


The History Books Forgot About Us (And the Bible Didn't Mention Us)

by callmejude



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Beach Sex, Biting, Breathplay, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Daddy Issues, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Emotional Manipulation, Exhibitionism, Foreign Language, Gay Panic, Gender Roles, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Marine Corps, Marking, Military Homophobia, Panic Attacks, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Possessive Behavior, Post-Coital Cuddling, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rough Body Play, Rough Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Slapping, Slow Romance, Smoking, Switching, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-10 12:53:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 116,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6985960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmejude/pseuds/callmejude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things change between Eugene and Shelton after Hamm gets shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Florentium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Florentium/gifts).



If you ask the rest of them, they probably think otherwise. Leyton, Jay, Burgie, even most of the boots, they’d all say it had probably been happening for months by the time it finally did. In reality, it didn’t start until after Jay and Leyton were gone. After Shelton began to snap. Not that it took Eugene by surprise. By the time they got to Okinawa, nothing Shelton did took Eugene by surprise. 

The rest of the company is silent as they scream at each other. They always argue, but never fight. Not really. Not loud. Not mean. It was an unspoken rule since the airfield that anyone who had anything negative to say about Eugene would have Shelton to answer to. No one else had ever heard him say anything like “Fuck you, Eugene.” 

Moments later, after a haze of sudden rage, gunfire, and blood, Eugene is pulled down into the mud before he can snatch Peck away from the rocks. He looks up and sees Shelton glaring hard at him, eyes blazing and a hand on his chest. 

“Stay down,” Shelton orders over all the noise, a split second before Hamm drops dead beside them. 

Shelton is quiet for a long time after that. When they cramp close together in their foxhole, Eugene tells him to get some sleep. 

“I’ll take first watch,” Eugene assures him, too drained to put up with an argument. He doesn’t trust Shelton to take watch now, anyway. Shelton nods without a word and shuffles down to the bottom of the hole. 

There’s silence that stretches on for what feels like forever. Everything between sleep and gunfire feels like forever out here. Usually, he falls asleep quickly, and Eugene expects it of him now. Instead, it’s only a few minutes before he hears the wet scrambling of Shelton digging himself back up to Eugene’s side.

“What?” Eugene sighs. He feels idiotic, letting himself still be angry at Shelton, as if it will do anything. As if Shelton cares. 

Shelton doesn’t answer, just stares back at him, as he is wont to do. 

It’s unnerving, the way he always looks at Eugene. His every glance seems to stand out intense, as if he’s always trying to stare him down from something.

The rain is pouring and it’s pitch dark and Eugene is too damn tired. 

“ _What?_ ” he repeats, almost a snarl this time, and Shelton reacts like the pop of a trigger. Sopping mud slams against Eugene’s back, crawling wet and thick down the collar of his slicker as his unlatched helmet is knocked sideways and drops to the ground. 

For a moment, he thinks Shelton has knocked the wind out of him, because he can’t breathe. When he opens his mouth, all he can taste is clay and blood. It isn’t until he feels Shelton’s tongue sweep over his lip he realizes what’s happening. 

Somehow, Eugene is more surprised by how unsurprised he is than anything else. It feels, strangely, as if this isn’t the first time Shelton has kissed him. 

Despite the downpour, Shelton’s mouth is unnaturally dry, lips hatched with cracks from the heat and the sun, the inside of his mouth about as parched as their canteens. Shelton kisses Eugene harder than he expects he’d kiss a woman. He’s forceful, almost angry.

“Easy,” he hisses into Shelton’s mouth, and Shelton lets out a heavy sigh into the kiss. His body, wound taunt, abruptly sags against Eugene, and one of the hands pinning his shoulders into the side of the foxhole lets go to latch into Eugene’s hair. 

He yanks hard to change the position of Eugene’s head, causing him to let out a yelp. “Easy, Snaf, Jesus.” 

This time, Shelton stops, pulls away. For the first time, Eugene notices how hard he’s shaking. 

Eugene isn’t sure if it’s Hamm’s death or Peck losing it that’s pushed him over the line, but Shelton is finally too scared to hide it anymore.

If he says anything about it, Shelton will probably deny it at best and at worst, throw a punch, so he doesn’t. 

“Get some sleep,” he says instead. “Because I’m waking you up at 0300 no matter what.” 

There’s no response, but Eugene catches a flash of white teeth against the echo of a flare before Shelton slumps back down into the foxhole. He picks Eugene’s helmet up from the mud and hands it to him.

It isn’t until Eugene takes it from him that he realizes Shelton hasn’t said a word in several hours. 

“You all right?” he asks stupidly. Of course he isn’t, Eugene knows that, but it’s still some misplaced instinct to ask. 

Shelton snorts at him. It sounds uncharacteristically wet, but Eugene tells himself it’s probably just due to the rain.

“Goodnight, Sledgehammer.”

At 0300, Eugene moves to kick Shelton awake like he normally does, but hesitates when he remembers the kiss. They aren’t going to talk about it, he knows that much. But Eugene still feels an unfounded need to be gentle with him. Leyton’s gone, Jay left. Now Peck’s off to the loony bin and Hamm is dead. If Shelton cracks up too, he doesn’t have anyone.

“Hey,” he whispers, shaking Shelton awake, “hey, Snafu, it’s 0300.”

Shelton wakes up slow, as if he feels like he can. The rain stopped about an hour ago, and it’s possible he’s forgotten they’re at war for a few blissful seconds. His eyes slide over to meet Eugene’s for a moment, and they stare at each other in silence. Eugene has never woken Shelton up like this, and abruptly, it feels too close.

“It’s 0300,” Eugene repeats, and the corner of Shelton’s mouth twitches. 

Something like curiosity flashes over his face, and for just a moment Eugene has the idea that Shelton’s going to kiss him again, but he doesn’t. 

Hefting his rifle in his hands, he grumbles, “Get some shuteye, then.”

It’s dark and wet and Eugene is exhausted. He closes his eyes and listens to Shelton humming tunelessly to himself. 

Eugene just finally falls asleep when he feels Shelton’s hand is on his face. “Sledgehammer.” 

It’s too soft, at first, for Eugene to really process. It can’t be light, yet. He only just shut his eyes. Shelton’s fingers are cold and grimy on his cheek, and he’s just awake enough to remember the kiss before Shelton’s hand smacks him, just hard enough to be audible.

“Ow!” Eugene snaps awake, jerking forward and narrowly missing smashing his helmet directly into Shelton’s face. Shelton grins manically at him barely two inches away. “What the _hell,_ Snaf?” 

“Rise and shine, Sledgehammer,” he says, handing him the rifle that had slid from his grip in his sleep. He doesn’t move away from Eugene’s face. “0700, we’re movin’ out.” The words don’t register right away, not with how close Shelton is to his face after everything that happened last night. 

“Did I smack the sense out of you?” Shelton snaps, “Let’s go.”

They don’t talk about it, Eugene was right about that. He’d be willing to bet it had all been some insane dream, except for the fact that Shelton never leaves him alone longer than the time it takes for either of them to take a shit. At first, Eugene tells himself it’s because he enjoys being close to him, but after another five tallies in the back of his bible, he starts to think it’s just to keep him from spreading rumours to the others that Shelton might be a queer.

He wouldn’t. Shelton must know that.

Days later, the night after they find the Okinawan baby lying on its mother’s corpse, after Eugene crouches alone to hold the old woman as she died, Shelton doesn’t sleep. He offers to take first watch and later in the night Eugene wakes up on his own — whether out of habit or forced from a nightmare is hard to tell anymore — to see Shelton watching him eerily in the dark. He does his best not to seem unnerved.

“What time is it?” he asks thickly. 

Shelton shrugs and glances up at the sky. “‘Bout 0400, sometime after.” He brings the cigarette he’s furtively smoking to his lips, and Eugene watches the ember glow as he inhales. 

It takes Eugene a moment for the fog of sleep to lift enough to realize that means it’s over an hour into his shift. He sits up, reflexively repositioning his rifle in his lap. 

“Why didn’t you wake me?” 

Shelton looks up again, dropping ash from his cigarette. Eugene watches it fall to the floor of their foxhole, next to three stubbed out butts.

“You’re gonna get us caught with that shit,” Eugene tells him darkly. It barely feels like it matters anymore. The expression on Shelton’s face as he glances back down at him shares the same sentiment. 

“Get some shuteye,” he says before Shelton can mock him for still caring about rules. “I’ll take watch.”

Shelton doesn’t react to that, turning his eyes back upward. 

“If I’m next,” he asks after a moment, holding his cigarette out over his knee, “What’d you do?”

Eugene doesn’t think about that. He can’t. If Shelton weren’t here he’s not sure what would come of him. “What’re you on about?”

“If I crack up like Peck or buy the farm. If I’m out and you’re still here. What’r’ya gonna do?”

“You won’t,” Eugene answers foolishly. He doesn’t look at Shelton, fiddling needlessly with his rifle. Shelton seems to find his answer amusing. Scoffing, he takes another long drag of his cigarette.

“You know better’n that by now,” he says around a mouthful of smoke. “We’re all gonna. Just a matter of time. Odds be I’ll lose my head savin’ your sorry ass.”

The words freeze Eugene’s blood in his veins. “Shut up,” he tells his rifle quietly. 

He sees Shelton out of the corner of his eye looking smugly back at him, proud to get a rise. It isn’t fair. 

“I’ve saved your hide more times than I can count, Snaf. If anyone’s dying being a fool hero, it ain’t gonna be you.”

That wipes the smirk off Shelton’s face, but Eugene hardly has the time to feel like he’s won before Shelton surges and slams him back against the muddy slant of the foxhole. 

“Don’t,” he says, teasing lilt gone entirely from his voice.

Before the whole fiasco with Peck and Hamm, Shelton had never really been physical with anyone in the company. All his bravado was in his words. Eugene had never instinctively flinched around him before now. The air surrounding them is tense for a long time before Shelton releases the hold he has on Eugene’s poncho. Eugene lets out a breath loud enough for Shelton to notice.

“If your ma finds you died for someone like me, she gonna be real disappointed when I stop by to pay respects.” His voice has changed again, the same tone he had when Eugene tried to rip the teeth from a Jap’s corpse. Condescending. Teasing him.

Eugene narrows his eyes. “So what? Your mother wouldn’t be?”

He knows it’s a mistake the moment it’s out of his mouth. No one who acts like Shelton still has someone to answer to back home. Shelton’s mouth twitches into that damned little smirk, and he takes a long drag from the cigarette still between his fingers. 

“I ain’t got no ma left to disappoint, Sledgehammer,” he says, flicking the smoldering butt down in the mud to join the others. “I can die for whoever the fuck I want.”

“I’m flattered,” Eugene drawls sarcastically. 

Shelton looks him up and down, the corner of his mouth turned up slightly. Eugene knows better than to give him sympathy. This time, when Shelton leans forward, Eugene is prepared for it. He tastes like smoke and dirt, and his mouth is still impossibly dry. 

When the floor of the foxhole gives underneath him, Shelton manhandles him until Eugene falls flailing back into his grip, dropping hard in the mud. Shelton breaks the kiss to laugh at him, crouching over him on his knees.

He swears, and Shelton chuckles. Mortified, Eugene’s skin burns down to his waist. “The rest of the company’s gonna —” Shelton’s hand claps over his mouth, dragging Eugene’s chin up to meet his eyes.

“It’ll be quiet, and it’ll damn sure be quick.” Shelton smiles at his own joke before removing his hand from Eugene’s mouth. Reflexively, Eugene licks the dirt from his lips. “I ain’t getting any shuteye tonight, Sledgehammer. What’cha say?” 

They have alert ears five yards away in every direction, but Eugene doesn’t say that. They need to be listening for the enemy themselves, but Eugene doesn’t say that, either. He can’t say any of it. He just remembers that old Okinawan woman’s face, the sound of the baby wailing, and how he and Shelton had just stood there, observing, forgetting they were human at all. He just wants to feel something. Anything. 

Doubt ringing in his ears, he hisses, “Just keep your damn trap shut.”

Shelton grins at him. “Ain’t gonna be no fun for you if I do.” 

The rustle of dungarees seems too loud, echoing in the muddy walls of the foxhole. It’s not raining anymore, covering the sounds. Everyone can hear them, Eugene knows they do. He wouldn’t be surprised if they can hear the cacophony of blood rushing in his ears. 

Dank air hits Eugene’s bare hips as Shelton pulls his dungarees open. Eugene must let out a noise, a gasp or huff of some sort, because Shelton freezes and looks up, pinning him with a stare. Eugene tastes wet earth as Shelton presses his palm back over his mouth. 

“Hush up,” he growls under his breath. 

Eugene nods, but Shelton doesn’t move his hand away. He situates himself between Eugene’s legs and dips his other hand into his dungarees to pull his cock out.

His fingers are cold on Eugene’s skin. It causes him to shiver, but only for a moment before Shelton starts to move his hand. It stings more than it should. It isn’t slick enough to be comfortable, but he only uses his hand for a moment before ducking his head down and taking Eugene in his mouth.

Eugene swears then, but Shelton still has his hand pressed firm against his mouth, and the only sound is a muffled grunt. Shelton’s other hand takes hold of Eugene’s hip and rips him forward, causing Eugene to slump farther back against the sagging dirt wall until his legs are thrown over Shelton’s shoulders.

If someone catches them, there’s no explaining this. It’s the last logical thought he has before his cock hits the back of Shelton’s throat. 

His tongue is like silk over his skin, and when Shelton slides his head down and back, Eugene’s hips twitch of their own accord. Shelton doesn’t seem to mind, rolls his lips in time with the movement, and one of Eugene’s hands scramble for purchase in Shelton’s hair.

It’s been months since he’s taken time for himself, and he’s never felt anything like this. Shelton’s mouth is warm and close and softer than Eugene can remember anything being. His skin is tingling and his bones feel loose. He’s falling apart. Shelton’s hand tightens over his mouth, and Eugene thinks distantly that he must have made a sound.

He can hardly breathe. Shelton is leaning a good deal of his weight onto the hand over Eugene’s face. His eyes roll skyward and he watches the stars fade in and out of focus. When his spine goes rigid and his vision blurs, he tugs hard at the handful he has of Shelton’s hair, but Shelton doesn’t pull away. His throat works rapidly as Eugene comes, making his every nerve light up past the point of sensation.

Time moves without him. Several unaccounted for seconds pass, and Shelton’s face appears without preamble in Eugene’s line of sight. 

His manic grin is reflected in the light of a distant flare as he drawls proudly, “Knew it wouldn’t take long.”

“Fuck you,” Eugene says back, breathless voice lacking any kind of bite he could’ve meant. 

Shelton licks his lips obscenely in response. “S’at a promise?”

Even in the dim light, Eugene can see him wink. He shoves Shelton off of him, hands shaking, and mumbles, “Smug bastard.” 

With the euphoria of his orgasm fading, humiliation settles deep in the pit of his stomach. He’s stuck wondering how many men heard them, and what Shelton expects of him now.

Surprisingly, Shelton falls asleep before the silence between them can cause Eugene to suffocate in his own panic. He won’t get long, only about an hour or so, but Eugene is thankful for both their sakes. He buries the snuffed cigarettes with the toe of his boot and flinches when Shelton rolls halfway onto his lap.

He reaches to push Shelton’s head from his shoulder. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, he looks down and notices the way they fit together is a stark mirror of the way he had held the withered Okinawan woman just hours ago. The memory is brutal and he jumps back, his blood suddenly like ice. Shelton grumbles something, unbothered, and presses heavily back against Eugene. 

For some reason, the touch helps bring Eugene back, helps him to breathe. Shelton is warm. Shelton is alive. He can feel breath steady and hot against his skin. They’re both still here. Trying not to focus on how soon that may change, Eugene sits still and watches the sunrise.

When he shakes Shelton awake, they don’t talk about it. Nobody mentions hearing anything the night before, but it doesn’t matter. Eugene feels wary eyes on the back of his neck as they trudge through Okinawa, as if everyone knows. Shelton acts as if nothing has changed, and Eugene catches himself wondering, ridiculously, if he’s done anything with any of the other Marines.

It’s late in the day when they find time to rest behind an abandoned bombed out farmhouse. Burgie leans against a crumbling wall to change his socks, snapping at the boots to do the same when they start to crowd him. Eugene makes a point to sit a good distance from the others and cleans his pipe. 

He’s packing it with tobacco when Shelton drops his rifle and sits next to him. “Got a light?” 

Embarrassed, Eugene refuses to look up. He hands Shelton his lighter before taking the time to use it for himself without thinking, leaving him to awkwardly stare at his hands while Shelton lights his cigarette. As if he knows, Shelton takes his time before he hands it over, taking a long drag. 

Eugene snatches it back without letting himself look at Shelton at all. He lights his pipe and inhales, casually keeping his eyes on Burgie as he tells Anderson to get some of the others together for an ammo check. He can hear Shelton laugh at him, but thankfully he says nothing about whatever he finds so damn funny. 

It isn’t long before he falls asleep on Eugene’s outstretched calf. His cigarette is still burning in his mouth, and Eugene can’t take his eyes off it. Rationalizing that he doesn’t want the ash to fall and burn him, he reaches over and carefully takes the cigarette from Shelton’s lips and stubs it out on the dirt.

By the time Eugene realizes he’s watching Shelton nap, he’s not asleep anymore. His eyes slide open already focused on Eugene, as if he’d felt him staring. There’s a flash of a smile on his face. 

“You take my smoke?”

Eugene nods. His eyes track Shelton as he sits up and pulls a beaten pack from his pocket, picking out another cigarette with his teeth. He watches Shelton’s lips wrap around the end of the cigarette, too focused to notice when Shelton holds out his hand for the lighter.

When Shelton looks up to see why he hasn’t handed it over, he smirks at whatever look is on Eugene’s face. 

“Don’t be jealous, Gene,” he says around the cigarette with far more confidence than he should have with less than two yards between them and the rest of the crew. “You can be next, if you want.”

“Christ,” Eugene snaps back, flustered as he tosses his lighter to him. Shelton catches it easily, chuckling to himself as he lights his cigarette. He doesn’t hand the lighter back, and Eugene doesn’t want to ask for it. Shelton watches the rest of the squad for a moment, scanning their attention. 

Eugene is too busy watching him to know where their eyes are when he rounds on him, getting right up to him before tucking the lighter in Eugene’s breast pocket himself. Eugene sits frozen by his wild stare. Shelton’s delicate fingers feel like heavy stone pressing against his chest until he moves them away.

Everyone saw that, Eugene thinks wildly. Everyone knows.

Shelton smiles at him, quick and secret, and picks his helmet out of the dirt. “Hungry, Sledgehammer?” he asks, his voice thick with a joke only he finds funny, “Burgie’s passin’ out chow.”

Eugene pats his pocket awkwardly, as if making sure his lighter is really there, that it really happened. He says nothing to Shelton as he gets to his feet, and watches his boots as he walks toward the rest of the men to get his rations.

Since Peleliu, Shelton has always been there to cover him in times of present danger. He’s always made sure that Eugene is flat against the ground when the shells sound off, and keeps close whenever bullets are firing. It all went unnoticed until, abruptly, Shelton is touching him all the time.

The most obvious, the most nerve-wracking, is that Shelton starts using Eugene to lay his head on during downtime. The other men do it amongst themselves from time to time, especially back in Peleliu when there was nothing but scalding rocks to rest your head on. But everything with Shelton feels too obvious, even when it isn’t. 

He won’t only rest his head to sleep, either. Sometimes he just lies there, resting his head against Eugene’s thigh as he talks to him in between drags of his cigarette. No one says anything about it, but Eugene always feels his neck get hot with panic, regardless.

Every time they’re alone long enough in safety for Shelton to get close, he’s on him. It’s terrifying. More terrifying than the idea of Japs around every corner, that their own men would ruin them if any of them knew. 

Eugene wonders if Shelton thinks about that. He doubts it. Shelton doesn’t think about anything. 

Neither does Eugene, when it’s happening. When it isn’t, he knows he should stop it. He entertains the idea that he should tell Shelton no, push him off when it’s late and quiet in between their shifts and he drops between Eugene’s knees. But he never does. Once it starts, he never can. It gives him a few blessed moments of a quiet mind that he can’t seem to find anymore in any other way.

Downtime doesn’t exist for Eugene since that Okinawan family blown apart by mortar fire. He can’t sleep without nightmares, and he can never focus long enough to read a sentence anymore. It’s always rattling in his brain now. Death he’s seen. Death he’s inflicted. It doesn’t matter anyway. Even if he makes it out of here, he knows he’s already damned in the end.

But Shelton kisses like a dying man if Eugene is the only water he has left. He holds Eugene’s head steady by the sides of his face, nails digging into his scalp as he bites at his lips. He’ll press Eugene still and silent into the soft, cool dirt. Always one hand over his mouth as the other wraps around his dick. If it’s a quiet enough night, he’ll duck between his knees and take his cock in his mouth.

He can feel Shelton’s pulse if he reaches up to cup his neck, light and quick like a hummingbird against his fingers. It feels devious, filthy. And somehow, there’s something pure in it, despite everything. Despite where they are, despite what they’ve done. Something in all the restless, depraved groping feels close enough to atonement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually a finished work. I'll be posting two chapters every week, usually. Just so no one worries that it may become abandoned lmao. I also mean no harm to the real men these characters are based off of, this is simply meant to be based off the HBO series.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hover for French translations

News of the A-bomb comes without warning, and Eugene has a hard time believing it’s real. As they take the transport trucks to the base, Shelton falls asleep pressed up against Eugene’s shoulder, and Eugene can’t breathe until he wakes up when they arrive at the base.

Things change when combat operations end and they set up camp. They have to. When the Japs were swarming, all they thought about was death. Everything during those days was just an attempt to keep the thoughts at bay. Keep from cracking up. It’s just another way to deal with the fear.

Without the panic, without the impending death on their heels, there’s no reason to be afraid anymore. Shelton still sticks close to him, but it seems to be only out of familiarity, now. They’re never alone for long. Even when they are, Eugene never lets him get close. He still can’t sleep, still can’t focus when he reads or writes, but he pretends otherwise. Pretends his nightmares aren’t all the sounds of a baby screaming or weathered, tattooed hands reaching for the muzzle of his rifle.

The men they’ve ended up sharing their tent with now are all replacements except for Burgie. Most of them avoid Shelton like he’s meaner than any Jap. Since Hamm and Peck, Shelton prefers it that way. He goes out of his way to see that the feelings extend to Eugene as well by never leaving him alone. No one really talks to him anymore other than Burgie and Shelton and some of the other second squad vets. 

Eugene hates that he prefers it by now, too.

The night the second bomb lands in Nagasaki, wiping that unknown place off the earth, they’re walking back from the showers when Shelton shoves him into an empty tent. There’s a lot of those now. Shelton’s always complaining about the lack of bodies since Peleliu, and it shows here more than ever. 

Still, Eugene can’t shake the thought that Shelton picked a tent that’s still occupied; that someone can come in at any moment.

“Snaf —”

Shelton knocks his legs out from under him, and Eugene forgets whatever he was about to say in favour of letting out an embarrassing squawk. When Eugene doesn’t immediately try get back to his feet, Shelton straddles his hips and pins him to the dirt. They’re just out of sight from the closed flap of the tent, and Eugene can feel the pulse in his wrist thrumming against Shelton’s hand.

“Snafu, this can’t —”

“Seems I remember you makin’ me a promise you haven’t yet made good on.”

That causes Eugene to hesitate. “What’re you on about?”

Shelton grins wolfishly at him, and Eugene vaguely remembers them slumped breathless and exhausted together in the mud the night it started. _“S’at a promise?”_ It has to be too dark to tell, but Eugene still has a flash of panic that Shelton can see him blushing. In any case, he’s mortified enough that Shelton knows that he remembers. 

“Christ alive, Shelton, that wasn’t a — get _off_ me.”

“Ain’t nobody here, Sledgehammer. No one gonna hear us this time.” Eugene stills, feeling an odd sort of swoop in his stomach as he says it. “You can say my name loud as you like.” 

His chest feels light, heart like a rabbit as Shelton leans down to kiss him. 

He’d forgotten how good Shelton’s lips felt on his. Despite himself, he lets Shelton ply his mouth open, gently licking at his tongue. It’s warm and tender and all he’s had for days is nightmares and dread. He sighs into the kiss, and Shelton pulls away with a huff of a laugh. 

“C’mon, Eugene,” he whispers, a little more pleading this time, “Fuck me. I’m askin’ nice.”

Shelton’s dogtags clink against Eugene’s, making the silence around them seem louder than it is. All those times in their foxholes, Shelton has never asked for anything in return, let alone something like this. He barely spoke at all when they were together in country. The direct request makes it hard to think, hard to breathe. Eugene knows he should say something, but he doesn’t know what to say. 

He doesn’t _want_ to say anything, even to acknowledge him. It feels like going too far. Like agreeing. 

After an alarmed second of half-developed thought, he loops his fingers calmly through the slack in Shelton’s dogtags and tugs. It’s light, and just once, bringing him back into a kiss.

He feels Shelton smile against his mouth, nipping teasingly at his lips as he slides his hands under Eugene’s PT shirt and tugs it over his head. Shelton is already bare from the waist up, so Eugene’s hands fall apprehensively to his dungarees. He isn’t sure what to do with them when they grasp thick fabric, and he goes rigid. Shelton smacks his hand away, and for a second Eugene’s afraid he’s somehow misread the situation.

“Settle down, _cher,_ I got —” he fusses briefly with his pocket before pulling out his tin bottle of rifle oil. He places it on Eugene’s chest before standing to shuffle out of his dungarees himself. Eugene hasn’t looked up from the bottle. He takes several seconds for it to dawn on him why Shelton has handed it to him at all.

“You can’t be serious.” 

A chuckle. “More fun this way,” he answers. “If you got somethin’ better you can damn sure let me know.” 

He doesn’t, but he still hesitates. Before he can stop himself, the thought he’s had since the morning after Shelton kissed him comes falling out of his mouth.

“You ever done this before?”

Shelton stops and stares at him. He doesn’t answer, which isn’t particularly surprising, but the smile is gone from his face. He looks, for some reason, abruptly shaken. Eugene feels the panic rising in his chest again. 

“What?” he manages, his mouth dry. 

Shelton still doesn’t have anything to say, and it takes Eugene a moment to realize it’s probably not a question people who _have_ done this before tend to ask. Humiliated, Eugene stumbles to try and take it back, but before he can get a word out, Shelton grabs a fistful of his hair and tugs him up from the floor into a sitting position, still straddling his lap.

His kiss is brutal, hard enough that their teeth clack together and it jerks Eugene backward. He throws his hands over Shelton’s shoulders to keep his balance, nails biting violently into his skin, and a chill rolls through Shelton’s spine. 

“That’s it,” Shelton slurs into his mouth, hands ripping at the fastenings of Eugene’s dungarees without breaking the kiss. 

The air in the tent is humid, saltier than the dry gunpowder and smoke back in country. It’s close and warm, but Eugene’s still shaking too hard to get the cap of the rifle oil open. Shelton takes it from him gently — too gently, Shelton is never gentle, he must be mocking him — and screws it opens himself. He slicks his own hand up and reaches behind himself, leaving Eugene to watch.

He’s silent as he works himself open, and Eugene would almost make a joke about how he’s never seen Shelton be so quiet if he could get his voice to work. Shelton’s jaw is tense and his eyes are trained on Eugene’s face. Eugene is almost sure neither of them have taken a breath since this started.

When Shelton pulls his hand away, he pours more oil on his fingers before wrapping his hand around Eugene’s cock. He still hasn’t looked away from him, and Eugene is afraid to be the first to break eye contact. The thought leaves his mind as Shelton touches him. His fingers feel amazing, smooth and soft with oil over rough trigger calluses, and Eugene’s head falls back.

It’s better than Eugene had let himself remember. For several days before they were brought back to Command HQ, they hadn’t risked anything. Eugene hadn’t even taken the time for himself. Even back when they had done things, Shelton’s hands had always been too dry to feel this good.

“Look at me, Gene.” Neither of them have made a sound in so long that Shelton’s voice makes him jump. His head snaps up and Shelton’s mouth quirks into half a grin. “Attaboy.” 

Eugene licks his lips, an odd thrill curling in the pit of his stomach, and Shelton’s clean hand traces over his jaw.

He’s not sure what possesses him. It’s almost instinctive, the way his tongue sweeps over the pads of Shelton’s fingertips. Shelton’s wide eyes go impossibly wider, and there’s a flash of bright white teeth in the dim light before pulling his other hand off Eugene’s cock and getting situated into his lap. 

Eugene watches Shelton lick his bottom lip as if he’s about to say something. For a split second, everything feels like it stops. Eugene’s not sure what he’s waiting for, but whatever it is, it doesn’t happen. Shelton meets his eyes for just a moment before sinking down onto his cock.

The feeling is too much too suddenly. Eugene can’t breathe. He swears, clawing viciously at the flesh under his hands, and Shelton groans, low and soft in his ear. His hips thrust forward, and Shelton lets out a choked off gasp that makes Eugene grip him tighter.

It’s too close, too hot. The tent is damp and thick with the smell of sweat and stale cigarette smoke, and Eugene is panting breathlessly against Shelton’s collarbones. He’s holding him like a lifeline, driving his hips hard into Shelton’s until he feels the way his bony spine arches under his hands. He feels so good Eugene is starting to feel dizzy. 

“Shelton,” he gasps, nails dragging down his back. “God, Shelton —”

Thin and sweaty fingers tangle in Eugene’s hair and pull. Eugene feels foggy as he meets his eyes this time. Shelton is smiling in a way that seems far too soft for him. 

“Merriell,” he says, voice warm and hoarse. Eugene’s tongue feels heavy in his mouth. He nods. Shelton tilts his chin, licking the corner of his mouth. “Say it.”

Eugene’s hips buck unconsciously at the order, grappling to get a better hold of slick skin under his hands. 

“Merriell,” Eugene echos, feeling something powerful swell in him as Shelton’s head falls back. He struggles to keep him still in his grip and slams upward, heartbeat buzzing in his ears when he hears Shelton groan something under his breath.

“Merriell,” Eugene repeats thickly, pressing his forehead against Shelton’s heaving chest. “Merriell, Merriell, Merriell —” 

Shelton rips Eugene’s head back by the roots of his hair and kisses him with his throat prone. When he breaks away, he’s trembling, and the air is too thin for Eugene to think. 

Shelton has never seemed this fragile. Even when he’d frantically kissed Eugene the night this all started, there had been the niggling in the back of Eugene’s mind that he was the butt of a joke. Now, something in him seems to have broken. Eugene’s ashamed to find it so intoxicating. 

Belatedly, he wraps a hand around Shelton’s cock between them, and Shelton cries out, the grip in Eugene’s hair tightening.

“ _Baises moi,_ ” Shelton whines against his skin, and Eugene has no idea what it means, but he pushes his hips in time with the hand on Shelton’s cock to hear it again. Sweat’s drenched along the back of his neck, trickling down his spine and Shelton’s shaking so hard Eugene’s afraid he’s going to shatter. “ _Baises moi,_ Gene, _bais — baises..._ ”

“Jesus _Christ,_ ” Eugene sobs against Shelton’s throat, coming hard enough that Shelton’s teeth sink briefly into his shoulder. His body has gone warm and heavy. He struggles to drag his hand over Shelton’s cock until he feels him come over his fingers. 

His eyes snap up to watch Shelton’s face as he comes, jaw slack, eyes rolled over white. His head starts to loll back, but Eugene’s other hand reaches up to fist a handful of his hair and keep him upright, keep him close.

It takes a moment for Shelton’s eyes to meet his again, blinking owlishly as he comes back to himself enough to put that smug grin back on his face. Silence stretches between them for too long. 

Eugene doesn’t want to speak first. He’ll only say the wrong thing again.

“We’ll wanna get movin’, _cher,_ ” Shelton tells him finally, in lieu of anything else. “The boys’re sure to be lookin’ for us, by now.”

Eugene wants to protest, but he can’t. Shelton’s right. He nods, and waits for Shelton to stand before getting to his feet. Shelton ducks out of the tent the moment after pulling his dungarees back over his thin hips, leaving Eugene alone to adjust his own and slide back into his PT shirt.

When Shelton’s pretending to be asleep that night as Eugene enters their tent, he assumes that means it won’t be mentioned again. Eugene crawls into his rack and stares at the thin, worn overhead of the tent for what seems like hours until he falls asleep.

He dreams of Shelton bleeding through the thick wool of his coat, Eugene’s hands soaked with it as he tries to stop the flow. Rain is pouring and there’s no one for miles, Eugene’s not even sure how Shelton got shot. He tries to tell him that help is on the way, tries to shout for a corpsman, but it’s as if his mouth is full of cotton.

“Gene,” Shelton is shouting, and Eugene doesn’t want to know what he’s going to say. Whatever it is, it isn’t going to be good. “Gene, _Eugene_.”

Eugene snaps awake so suddenly he nearly collides with Shelton, who is leaning tentatively over him. There’s a split second of panic on his face as he watches Eugene remember where they are. He’s already got a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and is smirking by the time Eugene’s breathing has slowed.

“Shit, Sledgehammer. It’s almost 1100,” Shelton tells him teasingly, “Thought you might’ve died on us.”

“1100?” Eugene asks disbelievingly. He’d forgotten he could even manage to sleep that late. Shelton shrugs at him, and Eugene looks around to notice they’re alone in the tent. “Did I sleep through roll call? Where’s everyone?”

Shelton glances over his shoulder, as if he hasn’t been acutely aware of how alone they are from the beginning. 

“Beach,” he answers finally. He looks him over with half-lidded eyes before adding teasingly, “You might wanna wash up too, _cher._ ”

“Don’t call me that,” he tells him bitterly. There’s a prickle of shame at the back of Eugene’s neck at the memory of the night before, and he lets it turn to rage. He sees Shelton frown out of the corner of his eye. “Why aren’t _you_ at the damn beach?”

Shelton’s smile looks more like a grimace. “Didn’t wanna leave you all on your own back here.”

“Nice of you,” Eugene growls, shaking out his boots to shove them over his feet without lacing them. “Only gonna pull that shit on me after dark, huh?” 

Shelton doesn’t have anything to say to that. When Eugene looks up at him, Shelton’s eyes are at his feet. He pulls the cigarette from his mouth and flicks the ash uncomfortably.

Eugene waits for Shelton to say something, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t move, either, so Eugene has to shoulder past him to get out of the tent, causing Shelton to stumble. There’s a hand tight and sudden on Eugene’s wrist, but Eugene shakes it off. 

Shelton is faster than him, and cuts him off a few feet from the entrance of the tent. 

“Gene,” he says, and it almost sounds like the preface to an apology, but Eugene is too furious to hear it. 

“We could’ve been caught,” he hisses under his breath. “We could’ve been fucking court-martialed for what you did. And you —” _left me._ He’s horrified that it almost comes out of his mouth, biting his tongue to keep the resentment on his face. That can’t be why he’s angry.

“What _I_ did?” Shelton repeats in a low voice. He sounds like he isn’t sure whether he wants to be facetious or offended. Eugene seethes, looking away and taking a deep breath to keep from punching Shelton in the face.

“We could’ve been caught. Do you even think about that sort of thing? Do you even care?”

The cigarette in Shelton’s fingers is burning down to nothing, and he puts it back in his mouth to stall for time. “Sure,” he finally admits, “Sometimes.” 

Eugene rolls his eyes. “You have got to be kidding me,” he bites out. “You — you started all this, anyhow. You…” 

He wants to bring up the night Hamm died, but something stops him. For some reason, pointing out the first time Shelton had kissed him feels too callous. It was different, then. 

He swallows hard and mumbles instead, “I don’t need this. Don’t involve me in this shit.”

Shelton cringes. He looks to the side, thinking, but doesn’t say anything. Eugene is reminded of telling him when Deacon died, how he’d suddenly run out of words. At least then he’d managed to say sorry. 

“You’re such a fucking mess, Shelton,” Eugene growls at him, storming past him. He doesn’t let himself glance back to see if Shelton follows him again, marching down to the mess to see if there’s anything left for him to eat before taking a dip.

It isn’t fair, none of it is. He wasn’t supposed to lose his virginity this way. Not to a man. Certainly not to a man like Merriell Shelton. He wanted marriage and children. Always had the image of a nice girl with blonde hair and well-pressed dresses. Not this, this was sick. Sid slept with a woman in Melbourne, and Eugene lost his virginity to his vicious gunner on the floor of a muggy tent on Okinawa.

Eugene doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve Shelton. He doesn’t deserve Okinawa, or Peleliu, or any of it. He deserves to go home. He deserves to be done. He runs past the mess hall and makes it down to the far end of the beach before stopping. Distantly, he hears a group of men from another company still shouting and splashing a good deal away from him.

He’s not queer. He knows he isn’t. He’s never been with a girl but he knows he likes them. He must. He remembers watching Mary Houston singing hymns in her nice white church dress a pew ahead of him and Sidney every Sunday. It’s what he’s wanted, to have a nice girl on his arm, to start a family.

What had he been thinking? He blames Shelton’s neediness, but how desperate had Eugene been to think about anything other than bloodshed for just a few minutes? How easy to give into something that, compared to the war, didn’t seem all that depraved or wrong. He remembers Shelton’s fingers in his hair and the look on his face, and it’s too much. He’s never wanted anything like that before, it’s not fair that he’d be stupid enough to try for it now.

Maybe something’s wrong with him. Maybe this is how he’s cracking up. Peck had fired his rifle blindly into the darkness, Daniels had counted invisible Japs, and Eugene’s doing this. Going back on God and his family. Making an effort to be sure his future is just as damned as he is now.

His hands are too clumsy to pack his pipe, so he puts it away and covers his face from the sun with his forearms. He takes a long deep breath and wishes he’d thought through before storming off. He’s afraid to go back to the tent. He’s afraid to look anyone in the eye. They’ll all know. He’s never been good at hiding anything. 

He’s not sure when he starts crying. It feels odd to do so. He’s seen so many others cry by now he’s just assumed he had forgotten how. But suddenly his face is wet and he can’t breathe, his whole body is shaking as if he’s freezing. He curls in tight to himself and hopes no one comes looking for him. 

By the time someone does, the crying has stopped. Calm has settled over him, and he’s cleaning his pipe as if nothing is wrong. It’s Burgie who finds him, and he knows to sit far enough away to give him space. They sit in silence for a few minutes, and Eugene doesn’t care to talk.

Finally, Burgie says, “Snaf’s looking for you.” Eugene had been expecting it, but the mention of Shelton still makes him flinch. Burgie nods. 

“Yeah, I figured if you wanted to be found he’d’ve found you already.” 

He doesn’t ask, which Eugene is grateful for, but it’s only a matter of time before he does. Eugene’s not going to have an answer.

“Chow’s up,” Burgie offers belatedly.

Eugene nods, but doesn’t move. Shelton will be at the mess. 

Burgie sighs, and pats his back. “If you don’t eat soon I’ll have to pull rank on your ass,” he says, voice light, but serious. He’s worried. Eugene’s one of the only ones from second squad he has left.

“Okay,” Eugene answers flatly. He still doesn’t move, but Burgie takes it. He pats Eugene’s shoulder and gets to his feet. Eugene says nothing. He knows Shelton’s going to be right on his heels. Burgie won’t have to tell him he found Eugene for him to know.

Restless, Eugene strips off his clothes and wades into the waves. He picks his way down the breakers, leaning against a high coral jetty with one hand. The waters by the rocky barrier are sheltered from the stronger tides and the waves are mostly calm. He only makes it up to his waist before he hears his name called from the beach in a syrupy Cajun drawl. He doesn’t look over his shoulder before diving under the water.

It’s a futile attempt to hide. There’s not really anywhere to go, and Shelton is in the water in an instant. Eugene kicks backward when Shelton reaches for him. “What the hell is the matter with you?” he asks bitterly.

“Matter with _me?_ ” Shelton asks, eyebrows raised. “That’s rich. I wake you up nice and all you gotta say to me is what a fuckin’ mess I am.” His dogtags are still around his neck, tinkling softly against his sternum as he stands up as tall as he can against the waves. “You ain’t had a problem with me last night.”

Eugene scoffs, hoping his face looks to be red from anger rather than embarrassment. “How would you know?” he asks without thinking. “Not like you stuck around long enough to find out.”

That surprises him. Eugene’s not sure he’s ever seen Shelton so surprised before. His eyes go wide and he stands there, waves lapping at his hips. After a beat, he tilts his head and narrows his eyes, but he doesn’t seem to have anything to say. 

Deflated, Eugene moves to head back to the shore without another word, but Shelton stops him with a hand on his chest.

“Don’t touch me,” Eugene grumbles, not nearly enough fury in it as he wishes he could muster. Shelton doesn’t listen to him anyway, palm still splayed out over his breastbone, keeping him in place.

“This about leavin’?” he asks finally, meeting Eugene’s eyes. “Wanna spoon next time, is that it?” He sounds so angry, like he had the night Peck snapped, and he has _no right._

“There ain’t a next time,” Eugene snaps back. “I told you to stop involving me in this. There ain’t any Japs around anymore.”

Shelton’s face changes at that. He looks oddly as if he’s been struck, and his hand finally drops to his side. The corner of his mouth turns up so quick it’s almost as if he’s afraid to ever be caught feeling anything other than smug self-importance. 

“Oh,” he says finally. Like he’s figured something out. Like he knows something. 

He doesn’t know anything. Eugene is sure of it. There’s nothing for him to know.

“It’s fine while we’re dyin’,” Shelton says, his tone arrogant. “That it? Ain’t nothin’ counts if we could blow up the next day.” Eugene’s throat feels tight. He doesn’t answer. “Good news, Sledgehammer. We’re still dyin’. It ain’t never gonna count.”

It shouldn’t feel like such a spiteful thing to say. Eugene doesn’t know how to react. He hadn’t wanted it to count, either. He runs his tongue over his teeth and nods. He opens his mouth to say something else, bring up the fact that they could be court-martialed again, but he’s too afraid his voice will crack if he speaks.

He’s not a queer. He isn’t. He wonders if Shelton is, or if he just doesn’t care. Eugene has never met a fairy before, but he’s pretty sure they don’t usually walk around with an attitude like Shelton’s.

“Heard talk,” Shelton tells him with dark amusement, “They don’t surrender soon, we get shipped out to Japan. Swarmed by Nips again soon enough. Then back to the regular routine.”

“This is _not_ regular,” Eugene answers instantly. 

Shelton makes an ugly sound at the back of his throat. His hand is back on Eugene’s chest as Eugene realizes belatedly that he’d started walking past him again.

“It ain’t anything,” Shelton tells him, “We agree on that.” He’s staring him down, daring him to argue, and Eugene has no response. “You’d rather have your Goddamn nightmares, fine by me, but then you best find a way to keep quiet about it.”

Eugene’s face must show something, because Shelton looks abruptly satisfied with himself again. 

“You slept like a baby in our foxhole, boy. Hell, I had to wake your ass up this mornin’ or you’d’ve slept through lunch, same as roll call.” He casually swipes his arm across the bridge of his nose. “You don’t have to call it nothin’, but at least it shuts you the fuck up.”

Silently, Eugene recalls his nightmare from last night. It’s the first nightmare he’s had since finding the Okinawan woman that didn’t somehow involve her. He’s not sure if it’s an improvement to watch Shelton die instead. He may not rustle around as much, but it doesn’t mean his dreams terrify him any less. Still, he doesn’t argue. He doesn’t want Shelton to know he dreams about him. He doesn’t need Shelton to know how much he fears him dying.

As if reading his mind, Shelton gets right up in his face. “You’ll miss my lips ‘round your cock when Japs splatter my insides all over their fuckin’ homeland.” 

“Stop it.” Eugene tries to sound more disgusted than petrified, but Shelton is grinning madly at him, making it hard to believe he managed.

“What you gonna do when I ain’t around to cover your ass no more?” he hisses, “They give you some boot who barely mans the gun, what then?”

“Shut _up!_ ” He shoves Shelton hard, sending him flying backward, landing with a hard crack against one of the rocks jutting out from the water. He swears, rubbing the back of his head, and Eugene moves instinctively toward him, keeping him backed tight against the stone. “Why don’t you ever shut —?” 

Shelton cuts him off, grabbing a fistful of his hair and yanking him forward into a kiss. Eugene pushes off of him, sputtering angrily.

“What the _hell?_ ” 

Shelton just gives him his infuriating lopsided smile, hair still gripped in his fingers. 

“You want me to shut up, you know how to do it,” he says, his tone ridiculing, giving his hair another tug. Eugene rolls his eyes.

“Bullshit,” he snarls, word almost swallowed by Shelton’s mouth as he pulls him closer, “You prattled on twice as much last night as you ever have.” 

Shelton scoffs, a huff of breath over Eugene’s face. He’s always so damn proud to make Eugene angry. All it does is make it worse.

The men down at the other end of the beach are long gone. Even if they weren’t, they’re hidden by the jetty of rocks surrounding their edge of the shore. They’re alone out here, and Shelton knows it. He shifts in Eugene’s grip, and Eugene remembers with a sudden flush of embarrassment that they’re both naked.

As always, Shelton takes pleasure in Eugene’s awkwardness, widening his eyes in mock surprise. “Ooh,” he says flatly, a cocky tilt to his chin. “S’like you planned it or somethin’, Sledgehammer.” Eugene looks down at where their bodies disappear under the water. “You gonna make good or what?”

“Shut up!” Eugene shouts at him, furious and humiliated. Wet hair drips over his eyes as he jerks his head back up to meet Shelton’s eyes. His face is unbearably close again and Eugene can’t think. He’s so fucking angry and Shelton won’t stop _fucking smiling._

He opens his mouth to say something else, but his voice leaves him as he feels Shelton’s fingers brush his cock under the water. They’re close enough now, he barely has to move. Shelton raises his eyebrows, still with that damn look on his face. 

“God _damnit,_ ” Eugene growls grabbing Shelton by the hips and hoisting him up, throwing his back hard against the rock.

Groaning, Shelton wraps his legs around Eugene’s hips and grins. One hand is still rooted in Eugene’s hair, the other one flying up to latch onto his shoulder. 

“‘Ain’t a next time,’ he says,” Shelton teases. 

Eugene ignores him, distracted. He remembers what he’d watched Shelton do the night before and pins his chest with one arm while the other reaches underwater to slide a finger inside.

Shelton yelps, but Eugene is only encouraged by it, holding him roughly as he uses another finger, and then another. He’s moving quicker than Shelton had the night before, but Shelton’s body gives easily around him. There’s no point to going slow. Judging by the look on Shelton’s face, he doesn’t want him to, anyway.

Both of Shelton’s hands are buried in Eugene’s hair when he fucks into him. The angle is different, deeper, and Shelton’s head falls limp against the rock. He mumbles something, voice slurred and quiet, and Eugene slams into him again, bracing an arm against the rock to push in harder. 

“See?” Eugene hisses, dropping his mouth to Shelton’s ear to make sure he’s listening, “Nothing shuts you up.”

It’s hard to tell if the sound Shelton makes is a laugh or just a desperate gulp for air. “Maybe you just ain’t —” he cuts off as Eugene drives into him hard enough for his head to slam back against stone, “— tryin’ hard enough.”

“Fuck you,” Eugene snaps breathlessly, somewhere between exasperated and still foolishly angry. 

Shelton makes a low humming noise at the back of his throat, like a purr. It pulls at something in Eugene’s chest, and he drops his forehead onto the crook of Shelton’s neck.

It’s as if Eugene’s skin is on fire. The first time, he was sure it was the tent that made the air feel so close and smothering, but even now, he can’t breathe. It’s too much, feeling like this. It’s like suffocating. One of the hands still latched in Eugene’s hair lets go to wrap around the back of his neck, holding him close. Startled, Eugene jerks away, but doesn’t stop. His eyes lock onto Shelton as he pushes into him, but it’s as if Shelton’s forgotten where he is.

As Eugene watches him, Shelton’s jaw goes entirely slack, his eyes staring up blankly as the sun dips lower in the sky. He can feel Shelton’s hands dripping cold water down his neck, fingers of one hand ripping at his sopping hair to hold himself as tight against Eugene as he can while the other hangs limp over his shoulder. He’s perfectly silent, now, and Eugene moves his free hand to tip Shelton’s jaw down and meet his eyes.

His eyes are hazy and dark. Eugene watches his tongue sweep over his mouth before managing, “Merriell.” 

He’s not sure why he wants so badly to say it, but the minute it’s out of his mouth, Shelton seems to react. The corner of his mouth quirks up, and his eyes focus on Eugene’s face.

“On — only gotta tell you...somethin’ once,” he gasps, “don’t I, _cher?_ ”

The pride in his voice slinks hot down Eugene’s spine. He shivers, keening, and Shelton drags him down by his hair, taking his mouth in a brief kiss before pulling him back again. 

“ _Baises moi,_ ” he groans against Eugene’s lips, and Eugene nods, wishing he could understand, before wrapping his hand around Shelton’s cock.

Shelton gasps into his mouth, and Eugene chases his breath, kissing him with as much force as he can. He feels Shelton sigh into the kiss, sagging forward into Eugene until he pushes away to catch his breath. He’s whispering half-thought words, almost to himself, that don’t sound like either English or French.

The hand Eugene’s using to hold them up against the rock slides over to cradle Shelton’s neck. The touch causes his body to go tense. He drops forward onto Eugene’s shoulder and bites, hard enough that the air is knocked out of Eugene’s lungs. 

He comes so hard he’s not even sure that Shelton does until he hears him whine, twisting away from Eugene’s hand still stroking him under the water. It makes him seem oddly delicate, and Eugene doesn’t let go. He watches Shelton’s face, dragging his thumb over his cheek. 

“Merriell,” he says again, just once, just to see.

Shelton doesn’t look at him, breathes out hard through his nose and lets his legs drop into the water. “We missed chow,” he says as if it matters, eyes cast down. Eugene still has him braced against the rock, but he doesn’t look up. He doesn’t move.

“Merriell,” he says again, pushing.

“Best watch callin’ me that around the rest of the company,” he says with a smirk. It looks odd, forced, and Eugene ignores him. “They all gonna want a turn on your cock when they see how lovey you get.”

Rolling his eyes, Eugene lets it go before he can get angry again. It’s what Shelton wants, and he’s not going to fall for it. Instead, he leans forward, ducking his head to take Shelton’s mouth in another kiss. 

Shelton forgets to be mean, then, humming appreciatively against his lips, and Eugene kisses the breath out of them both before pulling away again.

“You’re right,” he admits, taking a step back from the rock to give Shelton space to move, “We’re late as hell to grab chow.” He dunks quickly underwater and surfaces in the same instant, shaking the water from his hair. Grabbing Shelton’s arm, he parrots back in his best imitation of Shelton’s Cajun accent, “You might wanna wash up, too, jackass,” before throwing him back, watching him crash under the waves with a graceless splash.

It shouldn’t be that easy, but it is. Maybe it’s all the shit they’ve been through, and maybe it’s just getting used to Shelton, but by the time dinner rolls around, Shelton is seated at Eugene’s left as if nothing had happened.

That night, as Eugene scribbles notes into the back of his bible, Shelton tosses a crushed pack of cigarettes in his lap to get his attention.

“You’re keepin’ everyone up with that light,” he says with a look that belies his aggravated tone. Eugene shuts his bible and puts it away, under his pillow. Right before he shuts off the lamp, he sees Shelton smiling as he rolls onto his other side.

“Good _night,_ Sledgehammer.”

Eugene doesn’t dream of anything that night.


	3. Chapter 3

After that first time, it’s every chance they get. Shelton pulls him into the showers late the next morning, long after the other men have left, to press him flat against the musty tarp wall and suck his cock. He’s insatiable, straddling Eugene’s hips every minute they have to themselves in their dilapidated tent, nipping at Eugene’s throat and grinding against him.

Eugene would say something, but Shelton is addictive like this. Almost sweet, whispering unknown phrases in his ear in between desperate kisses. They could be shipped off to Japan any day now. Either of them could die, and then it would be over. Shelton knows it, too. That’s the only reason why.

It’s been three tallies since the Army dropped the bomb on Nagasaki. Eugene and Shelton are spending the free morning smoking on the beach with Burgie, sitting off to the side enjoying the warmth of the sun as the boots splash around in the waves trying to cool off. Shelton is using Eugene’s thigh as a pillow, but it’s something that’s so commonplace now that nobody says anything. 

They’ve been sitting in silence for nearly an hour when Shelton speaks up. 

“You learn any French in school, Sledgehammer?” he asks around a mouthful of smoke.

Frowning, Eugene doesn’t bother to look up from the notes he’s jotting down in his bible. “No,” he admits. “Even if I had, I doubt I’d be able to understand that damn pidgin you speak.”

Shelton grins at him, and Eugene feels a warm burst in his chest at the sound of his laugh. Burgie glances at them, smiling unsurely, and Eugene realizes with a sudden grip of dread that Shelton has never spoken French in front of anyone else.

It’s like ice water dumped over his head. Flustered, he grabs his pipe from his mouth in an overestimated attempt to look natural, but Burgie has already turned back to the waves. There’s no way he doesn’t suspect now. He has to. When he turns to see if Shelton notices, he’s gone back to lazily blowing smoke into the sky.

He doesn’t care, Eugene reminds himself. None of this counts. It’s possible that Burgie simply feels the same way. He doesn’t know for sure, but he’s starting to suspect that he and Shelton aren’t the only two Marines who steal away for time to themselves. If anyone has seen it happen before, it’d be Burgie.

Setting his pipe back between his teeth, Eugene goes back to his notes, hoping he seems unflustered. He’s scribbling away with such focus that he doesn’t notice at first that Shelton nods off. When he does, he has to bite back the instinct to touch him. Touching him would wake him up scared and panicked in an instant, and even if it didn’t, Burgie’s eyes are on him.

“Stanley says we’re gonna ship out to Japan soon,” Burgie says as casually as he can. “The Japs don’t seem like they’re gonna surrender unless we do.”

Eugene nods, tearing his eyes from Shelton’s face to look at him. “I heard as much,” he says stiffly. He doesn’t want to bring up that it was Shelton who told him. He doesn’t even want to think about the possibility of leaving the safety of this base.

Grunting, Burgie takes a long drag from his cigarette before tossing it at the ground by his feet, stamping on it as he stands. “Keep your head about you out there.”

“Sir?” Eugene feels Shelton move, but keeps his eyes on Burgie.

Instead of answering, Burgie lets out a sigh. He looks up at the sun as if idly checking the time before meeting Eugene’s eyes. 

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he tells him firmly. 

Eugene nods again, panic crawling in the pit of his stomach. If this is his way of telling Eugene he knows, at least it hasn’t included the phrase ‘court-martialed.’ 

As Burgie walks back toward the base, Eugene turns to look at Shelton. Sitting up on his elbows, Shelton’s eyes are on the the sand. He doesn’t have anything to say. He doesn’t even look back at Eugene.

Now that they’ve claimed Okinawa, the days are relentlessly boring, especially when Shelton is in too much of a mood to pay Eugene any mind. It’s hot and muddy and unnervingly quiet. They’re sitting with a few of the boots in the tent playing cards when Shelton asks him in a voice that is only trying to be flippant, “You think they gonna surrender?”

Eugene remembers stupidly insisting that he hoped they wouldn’t. He sighs, looking up at the weathered overhead of the tent before shrugging. “They haven’t so far.”

It’s not an answer, but Eugene doesn’t have one. Shelton takes it, anyway.

That evening after dinner, Shelton ushers him down to the edge of the base, tugging him behind a drooping tree before shucking off his dungarees. As they start to move together, Eugene feels sand grind into his back, and sits up on his elbows to press himself against the smooth trunk. The shift causes Shelton to grab for him, fingers wrapping around his hand. It feels strangely intimate, even for what they’re doing.

When Shelton finds his voice, he teases him, rattling off more in French than he has before now that he’s sure Eugene doesn’t understand. Nails of the hand still clenched tight in Eugene’s hair digging into his scalp, he mumbles brokenly against his mouth as Eugene fucks into him.

“ _Je te protégerai._ ” he whispers. Eugene feels him rip forcefully at the hair at his nape. He’s breathing too hard to tell his words apart from one another, even if Eugene did speak the language, slurring drunkenly into his skin. “ _Arien ne t’arrivera..._ ”

Eugene has no idea what the words mean, but Shelton’s pulse is so overwhelmingly rapid against his fingers and he’s breathing so hard that Eugene’s afraid he might pass out. 

“Merriell —” he starts hesitantly, but Shelton only shakes his head, cutting him off before he even speaks.

“ _Gadé_ — look — look at me.”

It’s different again, like it had been that first night in their foxhole. Shelton changes when they’re together like this. He’s softer. Nearly gentle. He drops Eugene’s hand to cup his face as if he’s made of something precious. He’s shaking again, practically shivering in the humid night air. When Eugene wraps his arms over his back to try and keep him still, he’s abruptly aware of how much frailer Shelton is than him. 

“Merriell…”

Shelton drops forward so suddenly that for a wild second Eugene thinks he’s fainted, hands flailing up to catch him before his mouth captures Eugene’s. It’s different from the others. Nothing savage or reckless to it, this time. Alarmingly, he kisses Eugene now as if they have all the time in the world. When he pulls away, it’s only far enough to rest his forehead to Eugene’s.

“Gene,” he whispers, and his voice is so quiet it barely sounds like a word at all. 

The moment feels dangerous, too soft. Eugene’s expression must betray him, because Shelton looks away, tucks his face into Eugene’s shoulder as if he’s embarrassed. Eugene can still hear him, murmuring his name as if it has some deeper meaning. 

Eugene touches the knobs of Shelton’s spine under his hands, his skin clammy and pulled tight. There’s hot breath against his throat, and Shelton’s teeth sink into his shoulder as he comes. Eugene gasps. He hopes, foolishly, that Shelton leaves a mark. It feels hard enough, as if Shelton intends to bruise him. He tightens his jaw until Eugene comes at last, hard enough to make Shelton release and gasp for breath against his skin. 

They come down without a word, pressed close together under the shade of the thick crooked palm. There’s no reason to hurry up and leave where they are now, not this time. Neither of them have anything to say to break the silence.

This is farther than either of them meant to go. Eugene’s starting to realize that now. He wonders if Shelton saw this coming when he’d realized that Eugene was a virgin. It’s possible, like with most things, he just didn’t care. 

When Eugene shifts, Shelton whimpers from the sensation of being jostled in his lap. The hand that had been hanging limp over his shoulder reaches up to cup the back of Eugene’s neck. It’s too light, too obvious, and Eugene wonders how sure Shelton is that he’s going to die before the war is over.

They still haven’t looked at each other. Shelton’s face is still pressed tight into his neck, and Eugene can’t pull away with the hold he has on his nape. Too much time has passed, now. Shelton is stubbornly refusing to be the first to speak, and Eugene isn’t going to, either.

After a moment, Shelton’s grip tightens on his neck, firm and stable. “So, Sledgehammer,” he says, voice slow and quiet, “need to cuddle any longer or should we head back?”

“Shut up, Shelton,” Eugene grumbles.

He honestly means it until he hears Shelton laugh, feels his fingers drum against the back of Eugene’s neck. He wonders if Shelton even realizes how genuine he’s being. He doesn’t say anything else, and he doesn’t move, afraid to spook him. They haven’t stayed this close this long before now. Not right after. It’s always been too risky not to scramble back into their clothes as quickly as possible.

Before he can stop himself, Eugene runs his hand through Shelton’s hair. Shelton jumps, looking confusedly at Eugene for barely a second before he pulls him into a kiss.

It’s unexpected, and causes Eugene to freeze. Their necking doesn’t always lead to sex — many times they’d be too close to being walked in on to get any further — and kissing during sex was always a given, but Shelton’s never done like this after.

He figures it will only last a moment, but Shelton doesn’t pull away for longer than a breath until Eugene feels the uncomfortable prickle of the back of his neck going red. He pushes gently on Shelton’s chest to catch his breath. “Shelton…” 

There’s a twitch of discomfort on Shelton’s face. “Merriell,” he says firmly, as if Eugene’s forgotten. 

Eugene nods, licking awkwardly at his swollen mouth. He starts to correct himself, because it’s usually what Shelton wants, but Shelton kisses him again, cuts him off. Something a lot like dread starts to curl in Eugene’s chest. 

“ _Je vais pas m'en sortir, mais,_ ” Shelton mumbles against Eugene’s neck, trailing kisses from his jaw to his shoulder. “ _Mais to' oui._ ” 

“You know,” Eugene tells him irritably, “I’d probably be a better conversationalist if you spoke English at me.” 

“Yeah, well, I ain’t askin’ any questions,” Shelton snaps back. He bites down again, teeth deep in Eugene’s collarbone. Eugene gasps, holding his breath to keep from yelping out in pain. No one’s around, but instinct still tends to keep them quiet.

Shelton releases his jaw to place a kiss over the bite, and Eugene’s still too shocked to breathe. The air around them is sticky and hot, it’s hard to tell Shelton’s breath against his skin from the sweltering breeze.

Anxious from the dragging silence, Eugene finally blurts, “They might surrender.”

It’s quiet as Shelton processes that. “Haven’t yet.”

There’s a bruise on Eugene’s collarbone the next morning, and he regrets wishing for it. He keeps his PT shirt on throughout the day, and if anyone sees it slide from behind the sleeve, they don’t say anything. They wouldn’t, Eugene realizes, even if they all know by now.

When he tries to confront Shelton about it, he makes the unavoidable mistake of waiting until they’re alone. 

“I ain’t your girl, Shelton, you can’t be leaving love bites on me like this is some…” He’s not sure how he means to end that sentence. He trails off, hoping stupidly that it’ll go by unnoticed, but Shelton raises his eyebrows curiously. One corner of his mouth turns up into a smirk.

“Love bites,” he repeats proudly, and Eugene rolls his eyes.

“Oh for Christ’s —”

“Ain’t nobody sees it,” Shelton interrupts, stepping into his space to push the hem of his PT shirt aside. He pokes his fingernail into the purpling flesh and smiles. “Anyway, you like it. Saw you touchin’ on it all day.”

“I’m trying to keep it _hidden,_ ” Eugene grumbles, but Shelton doesn’t stop grinning.

“Ain’t nobody questions a bruise out here, _cher,_ ” he says, fixing the hem of Eugene’s shirt. “Could be from anythin’ if not for the way you’re playin’ with it.” 

Flustered, Eugene doesn’t have a response. He makes a startled noise of derision, but Shelton isn’t paying attention. He prods Eugene’s bruise with a smirk.

“Never got one of these before, Sledgehammer?”

It’s embarrassing to answer. Eugene keeps his eyes on the floor when he admits, “You — no.”

Part of him had expected Shelton to be different after what happened between them the night before. Last night it felt as if something about this weird arrangement had changed. But Shelton only seems proud to learn the extent of Eugene’s inexperience.

“Never been sweet on anyone before?” he asks, “Not even Phillips?”

Mention of Sid is like a jolt to the spine. Eugene glares at him. “What?”

“You were always fawnin’ all over him back on Pavuvu. I’m supposed to believe the two of you ain’t never got up to nothin’?”

Eugene’s not sure why the implication is as embarrassing as it is. Shrugging, Eugene toys awkwardly with the sleeve of his PT shirt.

“I’m not — _Sid_ isn’t… he slept with a girl in Melbourne.”

“La-di-dah,” Shelton says with a raise of his eyebrows. “Him and just about every other Marine who made it there. Don’t mean he don’t have a special place in his heart for you, now, does it?”

“Sid’s not a queer,” Eugene tells him firmly. “He doesn’t — he’s not.”

He must sound serious enough, because Shelton’s smile drops a little. He doesn’t have anything to say, and it makes the pit of Eugene’s stomach twist anxiously. He has excuses for Sid. Sid’s been with a woman. What proof does Eugene have?

“You jealous of him or you jealous of her?”

The question sounds as if Shelton already has his answer. Maybe he does. Eugene had never thought of it before, but now everything seems muddled. Wrong. Shelton’s making everything so confusing. Sid isn’t like that, but maybe Eugene is.

“I ain’t jealous at all,” Eugene answers, frowning. It took him too long to reply. 

Clicking his tongue, Shelton mutters, “Sure.”

Before Eugene can argue, Shelton presses a chaste kiss over his mouth, pulls back with a wink and darts out of their tent.

Eugene watches him leave and considers following him, idly pressing his thumb into the bruise through his shirt.

It’s a mistake, he realizes later, to bring it up at all. Shelton only seems to take it as a challenge any time they have the chance to be alone together to leave as many marks on Eugene as he can get away with. Bites on his shoulders, scratches down his back, over his chest. His nails are so jagged that they leave angry red stripes on his skin that last for hours. 

Despite himself, Eugene is proud of them. He never says as much out loud, but he knows Shelton can tell. He can see him, quietly watching as he rolls the pads of his fingers over the lines of irritated skin when no one else is looking.

It’s been five tallies since the bomb in Nagasaki when they find time to fool around before their tent mates make it back from dinner at the mess. They’re still in their dungarees, Shelton straddling Eugene’s hips and pinning his shoulders to the cot. 

It’s dangerous doing this in their own tent, especially when the other Marines could be back any minute, but the risk only ever seems to encourage Shelton to be more aggressive. He rips Eugene’s shirt off over his head, kissing him before it’s even hit the floor and clawing hard down his sides. 

“Shit!” Eugene cries out, feeling his skin split apart. He looks down to see little red grooves parallel with his ribs. He glances back up, and Shelton seems surprised by the blood dotting along the marks he left. He looks belatedly at his own hands. A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth, and he slides his fingernails over his teeth, dragging the blood underneath them onto his tongue.

It makes his heart beat faster, his mouth go dry. Something about the way Shelton looks down at him makes his head swim. 

“Shit,” Eugene repeats breathlessly, flipping them over and slamming Shelton’s back against the cot. It knocks the wind out of him, making his laugh softer than it should be.

He’s breathtaking, beaming openly at him with his wiry chest heaving, and Eugene kisses him to keep from saying anything stupid. Shelton’s hands trail up his sides, and Eugene shivers at the tacky catch of his fingers through the drying blood on his skin.

Watching his face, Shelton digs his nails into the cuts again. Eugene lets out a yelp, and Shelton’s eyes flash. “Gene —” 

Whatever he’s about to say, Eugene doesn’t find out. There’s suddenly nearby chatter of Marines heading back to their tents, and Shelton pushes Eugene off of him, swearing frantically and scrambling upright, tossing Eugene’s shirt at him. 

Eugene slips it over his head, but doesn’t bother moving. Whether or not the other men can tell they’re fucking barely matters to him at this point as it is.

The boots have only been back a few minutes when Eugene feels Shelton’s hand skate over the seam of his PT shirt. Curious, Eugene glances down to follow the line of his fingers. Rust-coloured pinpricks stand out against the faded white cloth, and Eugene reflexively drops his arm to cover them. 

When he looks up to see Shelton’s face, he’s grinning.

News of the Japanese surrender reaches them the next afternoon. 

It’s a nonstop celebration all evening. The two of them are sitting with Burgie, slightly away from the others, perched on smooth rocks standing tall out from the sand. They blankly watch the others celebrate until Lieutenant Mac approaches them with a half-empty bottle of liquor in his hand. The three of them watch warily as he speaks, unsure how to react to someone who can so easily consider life without war.

“Sort of a… what’ll we do now?” he says, sounding somewhat mystified. 

Eugene’s eyes land on Shelton, who looks entirely thrown. It’s hard to tell if he’s unnerved from the unwanted company, as he normally would be, or if he’s having too much trouble comprehending the idea of a life back home to even register Mac’s presence.

When Mac hands them what’s left of the alcohol, Burgie takes it gratefully. He tries to sound optimistic as he takes a drink and passes it to Shelton. 

“‘What’ll we do now,’” Shelton repeats darkly as he snatches it from him, and Eugene wonders if he’s thinking of him, the same way Eugene is. “What an idiot.”

They get sloshed enough that most of the men end up passing out sprawled on the beach. Eugene expects Shelton to pull him away behind a supply tent or behind a grove after the others have gone, but he doesn’t. He finishes off the bottle Burgie handed him before leaving them alone, and smashes it loudly against the rocks. 

“Peacetime,” he mumbles to himself, “What a crock of shit.”

Watching silently as Shelton gets to his feet, Eugene waits to be called for. He isn’t. Not even to shout goodnight over his shoulder. Dumbly, Eugene wonders if he’s done something wrong. He hesitates before getting up and following the path back to their tent.

When he gets there, Shelton has his back turned to Eugene’s cot, pretending to already be asleep. Eugene’s almost drunk enough himself to go shake him awake, but the realization that he wants to stops him. 

There’s no reason to feel this hurt. There’s no reason for him to be this furious. What Shelton does shouldn’t matter to him. Eugene shouldn’t want anything from him. He sits with a soft _creak_ at the edge of his rack, watching the line of Shelton’s body flex rigid in the dark. Eugene opens his mouth, dying to say something, but there’s nothing to say.

When he finally lies down, he turns away from Shelton’s cot. 

“Night, Merriell.” 

He means to say it snidely, to hurt him, but Eugene’s voice catches in his throat as he speaks, and the words are almost too quiet for even Eugene to hear.

In the morning, Shelton is gone before Eugene wakes up.

For seven tallies after the Japanese surrender, Shelton ignores him. Eugene has nothing to do but let him. He sits alone with the replacements in the mess for meals, unable to answer any questions as to where Shelton is. Their tent is quiet, and Shelton only seems to come in after everyone else has fallen asleep. Most nights, Eugene waits for him. It feels pathetic. He’s never sure if Shelton can tell or not if he’s awake, but neither of them ever say a word to each other.

The palpable tension moves the boots to emptier tents. Even though Burgie’s seabag stays under his rack, he spends more time away from them, usually in Anderson’s or Mac’s tent. Eugene wonders why Shelton hasn’t moved, himself. 

If he didn’t care, Eugene tells himself, he would’ve left. It’s stubbornness that keeps him in his rack.

Burgie is dead asleep the night Eugene finally cracks. He feels Shelton’s eyes on him when he enters the tent, gauging whether or not Eugene is asleep before settling down into his own cot for the night. Eugene listens to him twist around restlessly for a moment before shoving down his pants and grabbing his cock.

The rustle of the scratchy blanket pauses Shelton’s movement. Eugene is facing the tarp wall, but he hears the air go still. He has nothing to slick his hand other than spit, and the friction stings. He tries to remember the sensation of Shelton’s oiled fingers on his skin. A thrill goes down his spine at the memory, almost enough. He makes a noise, quiet and breathy; he hears Shelton move behind him. Pretending to ignore him, Eugene moves his hand faster. He groans louder than he otherwise would. He wants to make it clear. Clenching his eyes shut, he focuses on the memories he has. Shelton’s fingers in his hair, breezy French mumbled against his neck, the look on Shelton’s face as he comes.

Forcing his voice loud enough for Shelton to hear, he whines, pushing the blanket away from his face so that he’s sure Shelton hears him mumble curses to himself. Shelton has gone completely silent from the other side of the tent, but Eugene pictures his eyes on him, staring through the dark in that unblinking way he does. He imagines Shelton wrapping his hand around his own cock as he watches. It’s enough to make Eugene’s breath catch, panting hard and loud as he forces himself not to bury his face into his cot. 

He cries out when he comes, hoping it doesn’t sound as empty as it feels. He cleans himself up with the edge of the blanket and waits, listening for Shelton’s response.

After a moment, there’s the dry, muffled sound of him getting out of bed. Eugene flinches, expecting Shelton to grab him, maybe even strike him, but he only storms out the tent, holding onto his half-empty sea bag. Eugene listens to the sound of his feet until he can’t hear them anymore, and lies staring blankly at the tarp until he falls asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, Eugene doesn’t wear a shirt to mess. The fingernail scrapes along his sides have faded, but are still undeniably there. No one asks about them, though it’s obvious on every level they had to be inflicted by another Marine. He feels Shelton’s eyes on him for the entire meal, but he refuses to look over.

After breakfast, during some downtime, he goes to the ocean. He’s finished bathing on the beach, stepping half-dry back into his dungarees when Shelton grabs his arm from out of nowhere, dragging him bodily further up onto the shore, by the cover of the treeline, away from Burgie and a few of the K Company boots who are swimming in the waves several dozen yards away. 

“The fuck are you thinkin’ bein’ seen like that?” 

It’s what Eugene wanted, some sort of reaction, but it’s such a ridiculous question that he’s almost sure it’s a joke. Shelton is looking at him as if he’s the one who’s lost his mind, when Shelton’s the one who left scars on him in the first place.

“Get off me,” Eugene snaps, trying to shove him away, but Shelton leans into his face.

“You think they won’t hang you now the war’s over?”

Eugene doesn’t have anything to say, but it’s not the words so much as Shelton’s sudden closeness that has him struck dumb. Last time they were this close, Shelton was looking at him as if he’d hung the moon. 

Finally, he spits out, “Like you give a shit.”

It’s a stupid thing to say. He knows it even before Shelton slaps him, hard enough to jerk his chin to the side. It stings, and he doesn’t turn his head back, eyes sliding over to meet Shelton’s without moving. 

“Bein’ a smartass worth bein’ hung for? You fuckin’ idiot.” 

He’s never looked this angry, not at Eugene. The look on his face has only ever been reserved for Jap POWs and greenhorn boots. 

“You’re the one who said it, ain’t you?” Shelton asks him, and Eugene’s head snaps back as if attached to a string. “No Nips, no reason.”

Fury bursts open in Eugene so quickly it makes him light-headed. That’s not fair. 

“You know _damn well,_ ” he starts, but his words catch in his throat. He’s humiliated to realize there’s no way to finish his sentence without incriminating himself. He glances nervously at the Marines still bathing in the ocean.

Shelton’s eyebrows are raised, waiting.

“It’s not —” Eugene finishes lamely under his breath, “It’s not like that now. You know that.”

He’ll deny it, Eugene knows. Of course he will. Who in their right mind wouldn’t? His head feels heavy, and he stares at his feet, afraid to look up. Afraid to say anything else. Afraid to move.

“Ain’t, huh?” Shelton asks dully. “What’s it like, then?”

Clearing his throat, Eugene bites back the anger from his voice. “If you didn’t know,” he snaps defensively, “You’d tell me all that shit you say in French.”

To Eugene’s surprise, that makes Shelton laugh. “You wanna know what it is I’m sweet talkin’ to you in French? That it?” He closes the distance between him and Eugene in one long step, pressing so close Eugene feels his lips against his ear. 

It’s too close. Eugene watches the figures in the water, feeling eyes on him where there are none.

“ _Baises moi,_ ” he pants, teasing, putting on the breathy tone he has when he talks that way. His voice is soft and thready, and slides hot down the back of Eugene’s neck. There’s a beat of too much silence and not enough distance between them before Shelton finishes, “Means ‘fuck me.’ Nothin’ else. Just ‘fuck me.’ ‘Cause it’s what you’re good for.”

Shutting his eyes, Eugene takes a deep, hissing breath through clenched teeth. Shelton steps back from him, but before he gets too far, Eugene grabs his elbow. 

“That’s one,” he grinds out. He lets the sting roll off his shoulders before opening his eyes and fixing Shelton coldly. “So what’s the rest of it mean then?”

“What rest of it?” Shelton asks, too strained to sound as glib as he wants. Eugene tightens his grip.

“The rest of it.” Haltingly, he tries to repeat the phrases, similar sounds to what he remembers, pronunciation off, and watches the cocky look drop from Shelton’s face. A sense of power swells in Eugene. “You made sure I didn’t know French before saying it. Now tell me.”

“That ain’t anything,” Shelton says unconvincingly, trying to shake his arm out of Eugene’s hold. “Just a bunch of gibberish.”

“ _Bullshit,_ ” Eugene snarls, “If it ain’t anything, you’d have told me the first time. What’s it mean?”

“Don’t fuckin’ matter what it means,” Shelton says suddenly, shoving so hard at Eugene he’s forced to let him go. “None of it matters. We’re goin’ home. ‘What do we do now,’ right?”

Eugene reaches for him, but Shelton ducks away. 

“I’ll fuckin’ tell you what we do now. We go home and act like this whole fuckin’ war ain’t never fuckin’ happened.”

Shelton storms off. The audience forces him to keep his arms to his sides and watch Shelton helplessly. His eyes fall to own his ribs, and he wonders how long he has before they fade.

He walks in a fog for the rest of the day. Shelton never returns to their tent. Eugene is too exhausted to go to mess that evening, but Burgie finds him and drags him along anyway. They eat in silence as the other companies bustle around them, Shelton watching them from the other side of the table, six Marines down. The longer he stares, the tighter the coil in Eugene’s spine seems to pull.

A boot Eugene has never learned the name of sits down at the empty space on the bench next to him. Now that Shelton is pretending to ignore him, no one dares sit on Eugene’s left. Eugene doesn’t bother looking at him. The boy starts eating before his eyes trail over Eugene beside him, lingering on his side. 

“What happened to you?” he asks with genuine concern. 

Burgie glances over, and Eugene hears him swear under his breath before the words sink in. He doesn’t look. Can’t look.

“What?”

“Your side’s all scratched up,” the guy tells him, his voice sounding unnaturally loud, “You get that from a local girl or something?”

“Gibbons,” Burgie snaps, leaning forward to make eye contact across Eugene. “Just eat, son.” 

Gibbons falls silent, but Eugene hardly notices over the blood roaring in his ears. Abruptly, he feels small, as if everyone’s eyes are on him, waiting for him to answer Gibbons’s question. He looks up, but he can’t see. His vision is tunneling.

He can’t breathe. He feels like there’s a hand clamped over his mouth. His heart is going to hammer out of his chest. It feels like shell shock, but there’s no reason for that now. The murmur’s back. After everything he’s been through and everything he’s done, he’s still just a sick little boy with a bad heart.

His tray clatters when he knocks it with his hip as he jumps to his feet. He has to get out of here. He has to move. People groan and jeer at the commotion and Burgie says something as he sprints toward the camp, but Eugene doesn’t hear it. Whatever it is, it isn’t good. Burgie can pretend to turn a blind eye all he wants but if the others are going to start talking, there’s nothing he can do to keep Eugene from getting court-martialed. 

How could he be so stupid? He’d only meant to make a point to Shelton, he didn’t mean for this. Now they’re going to hang him. He made it to the end of the war and he’s still going to wind up dead. His heart is pounding out of his chest. He’s dizzy and tired and the air’s too thick and damp to breathe. They aren’t even going to get a chance to hang him, Eugene thinks frenziedly, he’s going to die right here in the sand.

Something grabs his arm, and it feels like it’s catching him. He’s not falling, but everything is spinning as if he’s about to. The hand on his arm pulls, grip firm, and Eugene wheels easily around to face Shelton staring back at him.

It’s humiliating, feeling his eyes sting. “Get — get off of me,” he manages, but Shelton doesn’t let go.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” he wheezes, screwing his eyes shut. He can’t do this now. Shelton wants to pretend nothing happened and he’s going to be hung. “Don’t — touch me.” He pulls away and tries to continue toward his tent, but he can’t move fast enough, and Shelton catches up with him.

When Shelton grabs his arm a second time, he panics. “Leave me alone!” 

He tries to tear his arm away, but Shelton’s grip is too tight. All he does is knock himself off balance, stumbling to one knee. Shelton drops beside him without letting go, eyes unblinking as he hovers over Eugene. He doesn’t seem to have anything to say. Despite himself, Eugene starts to find the pressure somewhat stabilizing. He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Don’t crack up on me now, Sledgehammer. War’s over. No excuse for it now.” 

“Fuck you,” Eugene gasps breathlessly. Tears are streaming down his face now, his heart still threatening to break out of his chest. But his breathing has slowed enough that the tunnel vision’s gone.

Shelton watches him, squeezes his wrist. Eugene drags his free arm over his eyes to wipe them dry.

“I gotta call a corpsman for you?” he’s smiling, almost cruelly, like he thinks he’s funny. For a moment, Eugene considers punching him. But then Shelton adds, his voice calm, “You’re okay, huh? You’re okay.” It’s soothing, like the pressure still tight on his wrist. “Keep breathin’.” 

They sit in silence while Eugene lets the panic fade. It hasn’t been quite long enough when Shelton relaxes next to him and drops his wrist. The sudden lack of contact makes Eugene flinch, and Shelton misinterprets why. 

“I ain’t gonna let ‘em hang you.”

It makes no sense, hearing him make that promise after a week of refusing to speak to him. 

Eugene laughs, low and bitter, and grumbles, voice still a little winded, “You tell that to everyone stupid enough to share a foxhole with you, Shelton?"

Shelton’s face falls. He doesn’t speak, but his jaw works as if he’s trying to find words to say. Silence stretches on long enough for Eugene to feel regret. His eyes drop to his feet, then back again. Stalling a recovery, Shelton fishes his pack of cigarettes out of his dungarees. He pulls one out with his teeth and spends another eternity looking for his lighter. 

Finally, lit cigarette perched in his spidery hand and knowing smirk stretched too wide on his face, he answers, “Hell, ain’t nobody here stupid enough to share a foxhole with me but you, Gene.”

It’s a strange sensation, stones and butterflies all at once, and Eugene looks down at his bare torso, absently running fingers over the scars on his side. He can feel Shelton watching him over a long drag of his cigarette.

For a while, they just sit in silence in the dirt, the setting sun turning red before sinking down to the horizon.

“What’d you tell me, Shelton?” Eugene asks finally, not looking up from the way his fingers trace the dark red lines in his skin. “When you thought the Japs weren’t gonna surrender, down at the other end of the beach, what’d you say to me that night?”

Shelton breathes out a soft cloud of smoke and doesn’t answer.

“You thought —” he clears his throat, humiliated at how tight it feels. “You thought we were gonna die, right? So what’d — what’d you say?”

Clicking his tongue, Shelton flicks the ash of his cigarette and watches it fall. “I wasn’t — look, it don’t matter now. All right? War’s over. We ain’t dead.”

“Merriell,” Eugene tries again, and Shelton scoffs, placing his cigarette back in his mouth and falling back against the mud. He’s not looking at Eugene, but Eugene asks him anyway. “Why’d it matter before?”

“It didn’t.”

Eugene can’t come up with anything to say to that. It’s quiet for what feels far longer than it is, and then Shelton says again, voice quiet, as if he’s not sure he wants Eugene to hear, “I ain’t gonna let ‘em hang you.”

“Okay,” Eugene answers, wishing he had his pipe to keep his hands busy. “Why’s that?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Shelton answers plainly.

The other Marines start to mill past them, as if they’re invisible. In between one group and another, Shelton strips the shirt off his back and hands it to Eugene. After a moment’s hesitation, Eugene pulls it on. It feels as conspicuous as a neon marquee, far more obvious than the scratches had been. He knows no one can tell the difference, not really, but it makes his heart beat faster. 

When Burgie walks past them, Eugene keeps his eyes on the ground. 

It’s 2300 when Shelton creeps into the tent dragging his sea bag behind him. Burgie hadn’t showed up for the night and the tent is empty except for Eugene. Unceremoniously, Shelton drops his things in front of Eugene’s cot.

Eugene startles, not quite asleep, sitting up with a quiet yelp, and Shelton laughs. It sounds strange, close to hysterical, and Eugene squints to see his face in the dark. 

“The hell are you —?”

“ _Je vais pas — m'en sortir, mais,_ ” Shelton slurs over his question, sounding absolutely soused. “ _Mais to' oui._ ” Eugene wonders where he managed to find leftover alcohol so long after Japan’s surrender. “Means —” he coughs, falling forward and grabbing Eugene’s shoulder. “It means ‘I ain’t gonna make it, but —’” he swallows, working his jaw. “‘But you will.’ Yeah?”

Eugene feels abruptly hot all over. He nods, understanding. 

“I ain’t gonna let you die,” Shelton says pointedly, his hand tenderly cupping Eugene’s chin. “Hear me? Not from Japs, not from hangin’, not from nothin’, alright?”

“Okay,” Eugene mutters, feeling small again. “Why — why’s that?”

Shelton shoves him hard back onto his cot. “Shut the fuck up, Eugene.” He crawls over Eugene and kisses him, tasting of whiskey and cigarette smoke. His skin is hot from drinking, and his hands are clumsy, fumbling under Eugene’s shirt.

After a moment, Shelton chuckles soft and warm against Eugene’s mouth, and Eugene realizes belatedly that he never changed out of the shirt Shelton gave him. Shelton pulls back as if he’s going to say something, tease him for keeping the shirt, but Eugene grabs the sides of his face and drags him back down into the kiss before he can.

He’d missed this. Eugene had missed this so much that it’s startling to feel how quickly his body responds to it; helpless for Shelton’s attention in an instant. Shelton’s uncommonly pliant this way, curling back into Eugene, hands sliding out of his shirt and up the back of his neck to take root in his hair. About the time Eugene remembers he doesn’t keep rifle oil in his dungarees anymore, Shelton starts to grind against his hips.

He doesn’t say anything, just whines quietly into his mouth as Eugene hefts himself up into a sitting position to finally shuffle out of his shirt. Shelton’s hand grabs for him in the split second they have to break apart, twisting in Eugene’s dogtags. 

It’s possessive and needy, and it makes Eugene dizzy. His hands slide down to latch onto Shelton’s hips. He’s shivering so hard against Eugene it’s as if he’s vibrating. 

“Fuck me,” he growls against Eugene’s jaw, “Fuck me, c’mon.”

Eugene swallows hard. “I — I can’t, I don’t have…”

Groaning, Shelton digs into his pocket and fishes out his tin of rifle oil. Eugene wants to laugh at him for being so prepared, but Shelton is tugging at the fastenings of his dungarees before he can think straight. He barely manages to shuffle out of his own, thin enough to simply shove them down, and Eugene wonders briefly if Shelton’s been eating.

Dumbfounded, Eugene just watches until Shelton tugs at the hand still holding the rifle oil. 

“Gene,” he murmurs, snapping Eugene out of his stunned silence, “Gene, please.”

It’s odd to see him so desperate, especially since the time apart was his decision, but Eugene doesn’t question him. Holding Shelton up with one arm across his back, he uses his other hand to work him open. 

Shelton keens, his mouth dropping open, and Eugene feels something hot curl under his ribs. When Shelton wrenches away from him to crawl into his lap, one of his hands rolls over the scratches along Eugene’s side. 

As he eases onto Eugene’s cock, he tucks his face into Eugene’s neck, lips pressed to his ear. “I want some, too.”

Not understanding, Eugene pulls back to see his face. “What?”

Grinning and breathless, Shelton digs his nails into the scrapes along his side until Eugene hisses from the pain. 

“Make us match,” he says with a hint of a laugh. Eugene feels light-headed as he nods.

Despite always being the one in control, Shelton’s always seemed more vulnerable than Eugene when they’re like this. Smaller, almost breakable. It’s always seemed safer to let Shelton get rough than to do so himself, but Shelton is looking at him the way he had before the surrender, and it almost feels like begging.

They move so fast, he’s not sure if Shelton pulls Eugene over him or if Eugene’s the one to shove him down onto the cot. The air feels cold and sticky against his back. The sudden change in angle makes Shelton cry out, loud enough that Eugene’s hand claps down over his mouth. The air in the tent turns heady and close as he watches Shelton’s eyes roll back in his head.

As Shelton goes quiet, Eugene eases his hand over to cup his cheek. His fingers stand out stark and pale against Shelton’s skin. It feels strangely beautiful, and Eugene briefly wonders if Shelton thinks so, too. Shelton is watching him stare, and Eugene snaps his attention to lean close to his face. 

“Look at me, Merriell,” he whispers, firm as he can with the rate his heart is beating. He can’t tell anymore which one of them is trembling harder. Shelton’s big eyes take a moment to focus on him. “Tell me again.”

Shelton likes that, grinning wide enough that it almost reaches both sides of his mouth. One hand still tangled in Eugene’s dogtags, the other reaches up to latch into his hair. 

“Make us match, Eugene.”

It’s like lightning down Eugene’s spine. He rips brutally over Shelton’s ribs, watching his face change as he feels skin give under his nails. Shelton’s eyes break contact to stare blankly at the overhead of the tent. The tips of Eugene’s fingers are suddenly slick, and he can feel Shelton’s chest heaving under his hands. He glances down and notices with an odd sense of pride that Shelton had come against his stomach. He turns back to closely watch Shelton’s face as his smile slides back into place. His eyes are still dazed, and Eugene reaches up to pat his cheek, feeling quickly drying blood stick gluey against his skin.

Eugene hasn’t said anything, but Shelton laughs as if he has. One of his hands is still holding onto the chain of Eugene’s dogtags, and he tugs them until Eugene bows his head to kiss him. 

Twisting the chain in his hands, Shelton growls against his mouth, whiskey and heat, “ _Baises moi._ ”

The way he slurs sounds like a whine, helpless and frantic, and Eugene cradles his head with his free hand. Shelton’s eyes are locked on his until Eugene starts to move, drifting closed with a moan. 

“Look at me,” Eugene begs, and Shelton’s eyes blink back open.

Eugene wishes he knew another language, something new entirely, so that he could get away with spilling all the thoughts on the tip of his tongue without Shelton ever hearing them. 

The space around them feels safe, impenetrable. Time is irrelevant as if Eugene has the power to stop it. Shelton’s skin is slick with sweat under his hands, and power flickers at the base of Eugene’s spine. 

“Keep talking,” he whispers before he can stop himself. Shelton raises his eyebrows, expectant, and he adds, “Please.”

When Eugene starts to move again, Shelton breaks open, a litany of haphazard French blurring back and forth with English, unable to keep track of what he’s saying. Eugene can barely hear him over their gasps for breath, the pounding in his ears. 

“Harder, Gene — _merde_ — keep —”

Hair is falling dark red and wet into his eyes as he watches Shelton’s face. Nails dig into his shoulders as Shelton tries to keep himself steady. The cot creaks warningly loud beneath them and Eugene freezes. It’s still for barely an instant before Shelton jerks the chain of his dogtags hard enough that Eugene gags. 

“Don’t you dare.”

Eugene complies, a chill racing down his spine at the pleased noise Shelton makes as he does. He drags his nails through Shelton’s hair, tilting his head to meet his eyes. His heart is racing when Shelton’s eyes find his face with that unblinking stare of his. Eugene’s breath catches hard in his chest, and Shelton smiles.

“You’re a — Goddamn sap, Gene.” 

Dragging his head down by the chain, he whispers against his mouth “ _Jouis pour moi,_ Gene. Come for me.”

Like a hair-trigger, Eugene comes, the air punched out of him so suddenly the world goes momentarily white. 

As he eases back down, Shelton is hushing him sweetly, nails scritching gently at the back of his neck. Eugene drops his head against Shelton’s chest and listens to him breathe as his own heartbeat slows. After a moment, Eugene shifts, pulling out, and the hand on his nape grips tight. 

“Wait —”

Shelton realizes he’s misunderstood an instant too late. He clears his throat nervously, and Eugene grins at him, feeling smug. “Need more time to cuddle, Shelton?”

It’s dark, but what he can see of Shelton’s face doesn’t seem like too much of a reach to think he’s blushing. 

“Shut up.” 

Eugene’s smile fades, and he swallows. It feels realer than it had the last time. Heavy over them in a way it hadn’t settled before. Even after claiming Okinawa, war was still seeped into their skin, sure they were going to die before ever making it home. 

But they’re alive, now. The war is over and they’re still here. They’re going home with this. 

Shelton doesn’t move his hand away, still staring him down, and Eugene settles back against him, kissing his chest. The tent is quiet and still and warm, and neither of them move. 

He’s not sure when Shelton’s breathing changes, deep and even underneath him. He looks up to see his face relaxed, and smiles. 

“Shelton,” he whispers, not sure he actually wants to wake him. He reaches up and brushes his thumb lightly over Shelton’s bottom lip, marveling at their contrast again. The hand still draped over Eugene’s nape twitches, but he doesn’t respond.

It’s dangerous. It’s too dangerous. They can’t stay like this.

He rests his head on Shelton’s chest and falls asleep.

Horns blaring snaps them awake the next morning, Shelton jolting hard enough that Eugene almost topples out of the cot. “ _Fuck,_ ” Shelton groans, throwing his hands over his face. Eugene doesn’t mean to laugh, but Shelton must hear him, jerking his elbow into Eugene’s side.

“Real fuckin’ funny,” he grumbles, one arm still covering his eyes. He gropes blindly for Eugene with his free hand and shoves him stumbling out of the cot with a grunt. “You snore,” he snarls over his shoulder. It’s barely an insult, and it makes Eugene’s stomach flip.

Shelton turns away from him, wrenching the meager pillow from under his head to cover his face. When Eugene tries to pry it away, Shelton starts to come with it. “C’mon, Shelton. Let’s get some chow in you, you’ll be right as rain.”

“Fuck rain,” Shelton answers unintelligibly. “Ain’t nothin’ right about rain.” 

Eugene opens his mouth to answer him, but his words stop dead in his throat when he notices the scars he’d dragged into Shelton’s side. He’d almost forgotten he had put them there. He doesn’t think to stop himself before reaching out to touch them. He can feel Shelton’s breath catch hard under his fingers as he does.

Still turned away from him, Shelton’s hand slides over to cover Eugene’s, just for a moment, before falling back onto the cot. When Eugene pulls the pillow off his face this time, Shelton allows it. 

“C’mon,” Eugene tells him, ignoring the scowl on his face, “I bet Burgie doesn’t even save us our seats anymore.”

Shelton scoops his shirt up out of the dirt and tugs it over his head. Eugene looks briefly for what he wore the night before until realizing Shelton’s already wearing it. After a moment’s pause, he finds his PT shirt and pulls it on.

There’s space next to Burgie by the time they make it to him, holding their trays, and Burgie eyes them passively as they sit down. His eyes stay on Shelton for a few seconds before he slides over his tin mug. 

“You look like you need it more than me,” he teases. Shelton nods appreciatively and tips the dark sludge into his mouth. It works well enough to help him force down his breakfast, but by 0900 he’s practically falling asleep against Eugene. Eugene doesn’t mean to, but his hand moves of its own accord to scratch fondly at his neck until Shelton forces himself awake again.

Burgie doesn’t come back to their tent after that, and Shelton, against Eugene’s better judgement, stops sleeping in his own cot.


	5. Chapter 5

Three tallies later, it’s announced that K Company and the rest of the 5th Marines are all being sent to Peking for occupation duty for another six months. Eugene takes a moment alone in their tent, lying on the ground smoking to process the news. 

After the surrender, there had been rumors among the men of a cushy rehabilitation period on some nice Hawaiian island before returning home. And despite how desperately he’d wanted to go home, Eugene had allowed himself be excited for some time to himself to get his head straight before going back to his family. Now, there’s no Hawaiian island. There’s no rehabilitation. There’s just more work. More marching. A new foreign country. More time away from his home and his family.

It’s too much. He’d never accounted for all of this, and now it’s too much. With the war and with Shelton and now another six months stuck in China. He’s exhausted and hasn’t felt clean in a year. He’s suddenly irrationally angry at every company allowed to rotate home. With a flash of rage, he’s furious with every Marine he’s known sent home from wounds or illness, livid with Sid for rotating stateside before Eugene even got to fight.

He’s too angry too suddenly and he kicks their cot without thinking. The flimsy frame knocks backwards and tips onto its side, and Eugene is too embarrassed and seething to right it. He sits back into the dirt and tries to focus on packing his pipe.

Their rack is still lying on its side when Shelton ducks into the tent. He doesn’t ask what happened, instead takes in the look on Eugene’s face, and snorts. 

“Takin’ the news well, I see,” he says, going to right the cot. 

“Fuck you.”

Another snort. “If you want.”

It’s not funny, and Eugene ignores him. When Shelton takes a seat on the cot, Eugene falls back against the mosquito screening and glares at him. 

“What happened to Hawaii?” he asks bitterly.

“Should’ve figured by now we ain’t the lucky ones, Sledgehammer.”

He feels foolish for throwing a tantrum now that Shelton’s here to witness. He goes back to his pipe in silence, shaking the tobacco out with more force than absolutely necessary. He can feel Shelton’s grading him as he does.

“You done havin’ a hissy fit?” Shelton asks after a moment, “‘Cause I could use a light.”

Grumbling, Eugene tosses his lighter over, but he has no argument for the way he’s acting. He fumes quietly to himself while Shelton smokes his last cigarette of the night. After a while, Shelton falls asleep, and Eugene, with no better option, crawls in after him.

Arriving in Peking is unlike anything else Eugene could have imagined. Disembarking from the carrier ships, it’s more light than he’s seen in a year. The city is huge, bigger than Mobile or San Diego, bustling and full of people and noises and commotion, and after a year of sleeping in muddy foxholes and seeing nothing but each other or the enemy, a lot of the men become easily overwhelmed. Eugene can’t stand it.

It’s their first night in Peking and the men can’t stop screaming about the number of women. There’s a number of parades and celebrations being thrown to welcome the American troops, and even Burgie admits with a shrug that it may be considered rude not to show up to at least one. Shelton ties Eugene’s tie for him and they all go out in their service uniforms, freshly washed and cleanly shaved. The city lights are so bright compared to the rainy grey shadows and gas lamps they had in Okinawa the past few weeks, and everything is alive.The streets are paved and and well-lit and their barracks at the American Legation Compound is the tallest building Eugene feels he’s ever seen. The green lawns outside stretches on far enough that he feels starkly unprotected. He has to remind himself that he doesn’t need cover along every step anymore.

Still, leaving the Compound feels like a mistake almost instantly. Lively music sounds like incoming shells. Shouting excited crowds sound like the screams of the dying. Outside is a constant barrage of smells, none of which the ones he’d grown used to while in country. Mud. Gunsmoke. Death. It’s too much after the dismal gloom of Okinawa. It’s so bright and hot, and he feels the tug under his ribs that he’d felt before, when Gibbons pointed out his scars.

He can’t breathe. The air’s too thick with food and sweat. The sounds around him feel like a physical presence, shoving into him and barely giving him room to walk. The rest of the men have gone on ahead. If they notice, they don’t care. He can’t call out to them. He can’t move. He feels as if his legs are about to give out from under him.

“Gene,” Shelton’s voice feels farther away than it is. Eugene can feel his hand on his back, on his elbow, grip tight. Is he holding him upright? “Gene, you’re okay. I got you, you’re okay.”

Shelton must’ve pulled him somewhere, because his knees hit a large stone bench before he can process where he is. 

“Sit,” Shelton tells him firmly, and Eugene collapses into it. Shelton’s on his knees in front of him, and for an instant, Eugene flinches, coming to the insane conclusion that Shelton’s going to suck him off in public, but when he goes tense, Shelton only takes his face in his hands. “You’re okay, Gene. Look at me. You’re okay.”

He’s reminded suddenly of how Shelton did this for Peck, that downpouring night on Okinawa when he shot hysterically into nothing, the night Shelton first kissed him. He can’t stop shaking, and Shelton is starting to look afraid. 

“Breathe for me, _cher._ You’re okay.”

“I can’t — I _can’t_ —”

“Shh, yeah you can. Look at me.” Shelton’s hands are over his ears, blocking out the sound as much as they can manage. “Look at me, _mon cher._ Right here.”

It’s too close. Everyone knows. They already know. They’re surrounded by locals who don’t even speak the same language, but they know now. Everyone has to. Shelton is too obvious. His hands are wet, and it takes Eugene a moment to realize it’s because he’s crying, tears running over Shelton’s fingers. 

“I got you, Gene. You’re okay.”

He looks almost as scared as Eugene feels, which causes his heart to twinge. 

“I want —” Eugene starts, but his thought falls dead in his throat. _I want to go home._ “I can’t be here,” he says finally, and Shelton nods.

“C’mon,” Shelton says warmly, voice softer than it ever really is, pulling Eugene back up to his feet. He doesn’t say anything else, but a look crosses his face like he wants to, and Eugene licks his lips to quell the instinct to kiss him.

Back in the barracks, Shelton helps Eugene into his rack and throws a scratchy blanket over him. 

“You hungry?” 

It’s a simple question, but damned if Eugene can think of an answer. He shrugs. Shelton knits his eyebrows and frowns.

“Alright, I’m — I’m comin’ right back.” He moves to get to his feet, but Eugene panics and grabs his arm.

“No —!”

It causes Shelton to freeze, and he kneels back down to meet Eugene’s eyes. “Alright,” he says quietly, “Alright, fine. I ain’t goin’ nowhere. Scootch over.”

That first night, he doesn’t leave. He lays draped over Eugene with his head pillowed on Eugene’s thin freckled chest. Eugene listens to him try to hold his breath several times before asking, “Shelton, what’s the matter?”

By the time Shelton has thought to answer, “Nothin’,” it’s too obvious a lie. Shelton is listening to his heart. The thought alone makes Eugene’s heart beat faster, and he tries not to laugh when he feels Shelton hold his breath again. He’s more worried than Eugene even is. 

Eugene stays in the barracks the next night as well, and when Shelton leaves, it’s only for a short while before he comes back with a small thermos and two molded plastic cups stolen from the mess hall. 

“Told some English-speakin’ girls at a market there was a Marine holed up not feelin’ too good,” he says with a grin. “Said this’d make you feel better.” 

When Eugene is skeptical, Shelton frowns. 

“How you suspect I’m supposed to take care of your ass if you’re too stubborn to let me?”

He doesn’t seem to realize what he’s said, but it works for Shelton to get his way. The soup he all but forces on Eugene doesn’t seem to make him feel better at all. It causes him to sweat and makes him sleepy. Shelton’s hands are cool on his forehead as he brushes back the hair from his face. He lets Eugene sleep curled on his chest and sings a quiet, off-key French song whenever Eugene’s fading in and out of consciousness.

Eugene’s doubtful it’s really anything to do with the mystery soup when he feels well enough to leave the next night, trailing so closely behind Shelton he practically trips over him. It’s better than being shipped off to a med bay. They don’t stay out long. Most of the men have started discussing continuing the night into some of the nearby opium dens, according to Burgie, and Eugene has no interest in that. 

But he assumes it’s for his sake when Shelton looks at him over his beer and asks, “Wanna scram?”

The men don’t notice them duck away. Or if they do, it doesn’t matter enough to Eugene anymore. Back in their bunk, he lays heavy on Shelton’s chest and listens as he hums to himself, lulled to sleep by light fingers playing with the scruff at the start of his neck. Shelton’s skin is like a furnace, and Eugene shivers when Shelton presses his mouth to the crown of his head.

For the first few weeks, the company’s not given much to do. It’s mostly paperwork, sentry duty, and more drills. Most of the men take to sightseeing or spend their free time in various bars or opium dens, or at the very least buying strange things from vendors. The variety of food is almost overwhelming in and of itself, and the company constantly tries to out-do each other by bringing back samples of the strangest things they find for sale in the streets. 

The Compound feels almost luxurious, several old brick buildings around a large courtyard. The Chinese buildings have a very distinct style with curved ceramic tiles and double eave roofs. Their very American buildings on the Compound feel square and boring by comparison. They have tennis courts, of all things. Outside in the city there are endless places to explore. Mac, Burgie and Anderson set up a boxing ring like the one they had on Pavuvu. Pete finds an almost unparalleled joy in smokestacking the locals. 

But it’s loud, and busy, and so damn _crowded_. Eugene still finds it hard to handle. He likes to write home, now that he has that freedom to do so. Letters to Sid and his mother, his father. Letting them all know he’s safe, and that he’ll be home by the start of next year. He has to stop himself from talking about Shelton, especially to Sid, who when he mentioned sleeping with a woman in Melbourne, had insisted he hadn’t been bragging even when it felt that way.

He’s not sure if he wants to brag. He’s afraid to mention Shelton at all, for fear that Sid or his family will be able to see through him, right through his words, and know. He’s afraid they’ll see it on him when he comes home. That they’ll know where his scars are from, what he’s done. He writes about the mop-up, about occupation duty, and tries to sound as if he’s entertaining himself around Peking to avoid sounding as if he’s hiding something, but it doesn’t ever come out right. Whenever he ventures outside at all, it’s only when Shelton is with him. He writes the words “we” and “us” but is never brave enough to mention names. 

Despite the new surroundings, nights are rarely slept through by any of them. Eugene snaps awake to the imagined sound of gunfire. He usually wakes Shelton with the sudden jerk of sleep leaving his body, and he knows without asking that he’s not the only one. Shelton never bothers to baby him. Just curls back into him and grumbles a mild comfort somewhere along the lines of “Ain’t no Japs no more, Sledgehammer. Get back to sleep.”

Strangely enough, Shelton doesn’t seem to have nightmares of his own, at least not often or obviously enough to ever rouse Eugene. He wonders if Shelton just never mentions them, if he could be having them even more often than Eugene without Eugene ever knowing. Shelton would only cuss at him if he ever asked. It’s not a subject any of the men breach with each other.

As the days in Peking drag on, things become simpler. It becomes easier to leave the barracks, though Eugene still prefers not to. There’s food anywhere they look, and every foreign face is friendly. Women smile and giggle shyly whenever he walks by in uniform. Quite a few of the girls seem to intentionally zero in on the American Marines. It’s something every man seems to take advantage of — or at least assume as much of each other. 

Eugene still finds himself tongue-tied around women, keeping his eyes on his shoes whenever a crowd goes by. Many of the men come home late at night boisterously claiming to have slept with girl after girl. Eugene doesn’t bother to lie. He notices Shelton doesn’t, either. 

There’s no point to it, anyway. They tend not to emerge from their barracks much at all for a while after that first night. For the first time since leaving home, they’re packed up in a place with real walls and actual doors, and can spend their days doing things other than cleaning their rifles. When the nights are warm, none of the men stay inside except to sleep, which is why the other Marines notice.

No one honestly suspects, at least, Eugene doesn’t think so. If they do, he doubts they really care. But jeers are made when they’re together, regardless. Eugene becomes overtly aware of how often he tails after Shelton when the others start to tease him for it.

“Hey, Snafu,” Redifer calls after him as the two of them leave the mess together, “he sleep at the end of your rack, too?”

Eugene doesn’t bother with reacting, but Shelton stops in his tracks to turn and glare at him. He stops moving so fast that Eugene runs into him, and Redifer laughs. Eugene tries to usher Shelton out of the mess hall, but Shelton shoves past him to storm back over to where Redifer is sitting.

“You askin’ if there any room for you, John Redifer?” he asks snidely as Eugene sidles up to them, nervous about leaving Shelton to his own devices with anyone when he’s in anything less than an amicable mood. “Or you just want Sledgehammer in _your_ bed?”

It seems a little too conspicuous to say, and Eugene can feel his face get hot. Redifer doesn’t seem intimidated. He looks back at Shelton with a too-easy grin and asks, “Oh, so you share?”

Shelton’s face darkens, and Eugene is quick to roll his eyes and step between them. “War’s over, Redifer, ain’t no reason to snap your cap.” 

It’s odd to say, and must still be odd to hear, because Redifer’s smile drops. It’ll be too obvious to touch Shelton now, to pull him away, but Eugene wants to get him to leave before Redifer can start up again. 

He turns and walks away without saying anything and hopes Shelton will follow. He doesn’t, immediately, but thankfully doesn’t lag too far behind.

Once they leave the mess, Shelton storms out in front of him, snatching Eugene by his elbow and dragging him into their barracks. 

Sighing, Eugene shuts the door and starts talking before Shelton can turn his rage around on him. “I just didn’t want you two thrown into the brig over some stupid —” 

Shelton cuts him off, shoving him to the floor. Eugene yelps, but Shelton doesn’t seem to notice, digging his rifle oil out of his pocket before discarding his dungarees. It’s hard not to stare as he pulls off his shirt. The scars along his side seem angrier than Eugene’s. They don’t stand out as starkly against Shelton’s tan skin, but they’re deeper and longer. Made with more purpose.

Pulling Eugene’s PT shirt over his head, Shelton grabs a fistful of his dogtags and wrenches his head forward. 

“If you come before I do, I’ll stick my dick in that pretty little mouth of yours ‘til you choke on it, understand?” 

It’s an empty threat, but it makes Eugene’s stomach bottom out. He nods. 

“Good,” Shelton mutters, his fingers tickling gently over the lines he left in Eugene’s side. It’s an odd sensation when his other hand is still clenched around the slack of Eugene’s dogtags hard enough that he can feel the chain digging into his throat.

He’s already shivering when Shelton works his pants open, and Shelton notices, grinning. He doesn’t say anything, but he takes his time slicking up Eugene’s cock. He’s teasing and too gentle, and Eugene holds his breath.

Shelton watches him, eyes wide and unblinking, chewing absently at his lip as Eugene stares back. He’s thinking something over, but Eugene can’t tell what it is, and he’s guessing Shelton would rather die than say. When he slides onto Eugene’s cock he tilts his head, grabs a handful of Eugene’s hair with his greasy hand and pulls.

He’s still holding Eugene’s throat prone by his dogtags, and the angle makes it hard for Eugene to breathe. Shelton is panting as he stares down at him and Eugene clenches his eyes shut, willing himself not to come, because Shelton told him not to.

The air’s knocked out of him as Shelton slams his back against the dusty floorboards. 

“Eyes open,” he says, too loud, someone’s going to hear them. Eugene does as he’s told, and the look on Shelton’s face is focused and thrilled.

It’s like fire under Eugene’s skin. Giving Shelton what he wants, getting that satisfied little grin to spread across his face. Shelton has him pinned to the floor, rocking back against him. Eugene can hardly move, but Shelton seems to prefer it that way. Still, he can’t help reaching for him, scratching weakly at his neck until Shelton dips his head to kiss him.

Even then, Shelton bites. His teeth sink firmly into Eugene’s lip until he cries out, and Shelton covers his mouth with his own to muffle the sound. It makes Eugene’s head start to spin until Shelton pulls away. 

“Bite back,” he growls, practically into Eugene’s mouth. 

He reacts without thinking, stretching up to latch his teeth into Shelton’s shoulder. The hand still cradling his throat tightens to yank Shelton down and give himself better leverage. He feels Shelton go still, feels come hit his stomach, but doesn’t let go until he hears him whimper.

As he falls back against the floor, Shelton manages a smirk. He’s shaking and loose, but still watching Eugene as if he has any reason to be smug. 

“C’mon boy, don’t quit on me now. Finish the job.” 

Part of Eugene wants to hit him for being a Goddamn smartass, but he doesn’t. Shelton wants him to finish, so he will. He holds Shelton’s hips and starts to move, joints burning after being held in place against the floor. Shelton’s head falls back as Eugene fucks into him, and words fall out of his mouth in a way that doesn’t quite seem on purpose.

“I won’t, you know.”

“Won’t what?” Eugene grinds out through clenched teeth, startled when Shelton tilts his head back to stare down at him, eyes dark and blank.

“Share.”

Spine like white-hot brass, Eugene comes. Shelton’s fingers clamp over his mouth as he makes a sound he’s unaware of. He still feels as if he’s in pieces when he blinks Shelton back into view, leaning over his face close enough to breathe his air. 

“Settled, then,” he says as if they’ve had any sort of discussion, getting shakily to his feet. Eugene watches him put himself back together and tries to will his legs to move. 

“Settled what?” he asks, watching Shelton shrug back into his shirt. 

He flashes a grin over his shoulder as he steps back into his dungarees. Eugene still hasn’t moved. 

“Sharing,” he answers vaguely, turning his attention to his fastenings. 

Eugene doesn’t say anything, but he wonders why Shelton feels it needs to be said. When Shelton had admitted to not fooling around with any of the other Marines, it was only because Eugene had asked. It never even felt like an option for himself. It takes him an embarrassingly long time to remember they’re surrounded by willing women, and his skin goes hot. Shelton doesn’t want the girls. He doesn’t want Eugene to have them, either. It’s that same burn under his skin he gets whenever he does what Shelton tells him. 

He nods, finally, but he’s not sure Shelton even notices. He’s not looking, anyway. He knows Eugene’s answer.

Once Shelton is straightened out, back in uniform, he turns on his heel and leans down to take Eugene’s hand to help him up. As Eugene takes it, he watches his shirt fall loose from his throat and sees it, dark red bite mark against his collarbone. 

Shelton catches him staring and smiles. “Ain’t no one gonna notice, Sledgehammer.” 

No one does, but Redifer’s outburst isn’t the only one. As occupation duty goes on and the seasons start to change, the men start to stay in from a cold they’re no longer accustomed to, and it’s harder to avoid prying eyes. Their jokes get meaner. But that’s all it is. Jokes. They don’t do much else other than shout foul comments when they see Eugene and Shelton together. They’re only looking to get a rise. 

Eugene ignores it, but Shelton is not nearly as collected. Usually, all he manages are growls and threats. Eugene is always there to defuse tensions if they get too high, and Shelton rarely has to work to make others feel foolish. 

He expects the teasing to cause Shelton to act standoffish when they’re alone, but it seems to have the opposite effect. Other men’s comments only make Shelton needier, dragging Eugene away from the others to neck in private at the first chance he gets.

Pete jabs at them one day while walking past Eugene trimming Shelton’s hair in the courtyard, and Shelton grabs a handful of freezing dirt from the ground under his ass and lobs it at Pete’s boots, swearing at him until Pete lifts his hands in apologetic surrender. Eugene doesn’t say anything, smirking to himself behind the sheers. 

That night Shelton crawls into his rack and peppers his skin with bite marks, leaving finger-shaped bruises on his wrists as he holds him still against the creaking frame of the cot.

One morning, as Eugene and Shelton walk past a table of men to reach their own seats, teasing remarks start to float past them. He can practically hear Shelton grinding his teeth, and tries to give him a gentle nudge forward. 

He means for it to go unnoticed, but it doesn’t. 

Eugene recognizes Gibbons’s voice call out louder than the others, “You let your fairy push you around like that, Snafu?”

Shelton reacts like the snap of a whip, chucking his tray down with a crash and throwing himself forward. Eugene drops his own tray and scrambles for him, catching hold of his arm and tugging him back, but Shelton is stronger and rips out of his grip without a second thought. Gibbons jumps to his feet, foolishly, making him that much easier for Shelton to grab by the collar and tackle to the filthy tiled floor.

“ _Say again?_ ” he snarls, arm braced against Gibbons’s throat. 

He has a fist raised above his head, but Eugene catches his arm before he can throw a punch. Burgie and Pete are there to help pull him off before he can overpower Eugene, but Shelton still manages to spit on him.

“Snafu, _Jesus,_ ” Burgie sighs, pushing him to his feet, “Don’t go Asiatic on me now.” He looks like he wants to add something else, but he turns to Gibbons instead. “You all right, Gibbons?” Aside from the startled look on his face, Gibbons seems fine. He nods and sits up, flinching when Shelton flings a haphazard kick at the floor by his hip.

Lieutenant Stanley seems to appear without preamble. “What the hell is going on here?” he barks coolly. 

Eugene flinches, and Shelton quits struggling against him, standing to attention and glaring hard at his feet.

“I have it handled, sir,” Burgie says respectfully, “They’re my guys, I’ll take care of it.”

Stanley seems unimpressed, but when he looks down at Gibbons getting to his feet, he sighs. 

“No need to start fights in the absence of war, gentlemen,” he says firmly, and then fixes Burgie with a glare. “Take care of it.” 

“Yes, sir.” Burgie nods, waiting until Stanley walks back to his chow before wheeling on Eugene.

“Get him out of here before I throw him in the brig.” 

Eugene nods, feeling exposed, and hauls Shelton by his arm out of the mess hall.

“What the Sam Hill are you thinking, you idiot?” Eugene asks gruffly as he drags him across the courtyard, down towards the barracks building. “You might as well have just announced to the whole company what we get up to. If they didn’t know already they all sure as hell know now.” 

Shelton glowers at him, letting himself be led into their room in silence.

“They all say that shit now,” Eugene points out, exasperated, “why’d you have to go Asiatic all of a sudden?”

Shelton busies himself with taking off his shoes so he doesn’t have to look Eugene in the eyes as he answers, “Boots ain’t got no right callin’ you names.”

It’s an unexpected response, almost sweet, and Eugene’s too stunned to answer. Shelton’s boots are off, but he’s still keeping his eyes on his feet. He works his jaw as if he’s not finished with what he has to say, but nothing else makes it out of his mouth. 

Eugene sits on his cot with a sigh, and Shelton keeps his head down.

Eugene wants to ask, but he doesn’t. It’s not unlikely that Shelton is telling the truth, but Eugene is still curious if there’s more to it than that. If it’s specifically what Gibbons called him, and how they both know Eugene isn’t the one of them who is.

They sit in silence until Burgie finds them, barging in angrily and glaring wordlessly at Shelton until he stands. “Care to tell me what the _hell_ you thought you were doing back there?”

“He ain’t got no right calling Sledgehammer —”

“Sledgehammer can take care of himself, Snafu.” Burgie hisses, cutting him off, “And you taking charge with that sort of thing ain’t doing him no favors.”

Shelton bristles. He’s ready to argue, but the realization that Burgie’s right hits him before the words can leave his mouth. He licks nervously at his lip and runs a hand through his hair. 

“It ain’t his business,” Shelton adds finally, because he has to have the last word.

Rolling his eyes, Burgie looks to Eugene. It’s obvious he wants to say something, but he’s not sure what to say. 

Finally, he sighs. “You two need to settle this out. The way the men talk — starting fights isn’t going to make it go away.”

He turns back to Shelton, who stares pointedly at his feet. “It’s only going to make it worse.” Shelton doesn’t say anything. “You two are playing at a dangerous game, here. Learn to keep a lid on it.”

The two of them nod and mutter “Yes, sir,” in unison. Burgie hesitates, not sure if he wants to leave them alone. He chews awkwardly on the inside of his mouth before leaving their bunk without another word. After a moment, Shelton drops back onto his rack.

Eugene takes off his own shoes, feeling oddly vulnerable in sitting idly. He’s unsure what to say, but knows he should say something if Shelton has gone silent. 

Finally, he decides, “You don’t have to fight boots for me. I don’t care if they’ve got anything to say.”

“They shouldn’t have nothin’ to say,” Shelton answers back quickly. “They should mind their own.”

That makes Eugene scoff. “We’re not too good at keeping it out of their business, Snafu. Do you even talk to anyone other than Burgie and me?”

“Not since everyone else bought the farm,” Shelton grumbles, voice turning bitter as he falls back onto his cot. Eugene watches him light a cigarette and blow a wide cloud of smoke at the overhead. “Our _defan_ pals ain’t much in ways of conversation.”

They aren’t all dead, Eugene wants to say, but he’s afraid to bring up how others got to go home and they’re stuck mopping up. He busies himself with his pipe, thankful for distraction to keep him from asking for the millionth time why he chose Eugene at all.

Shelton still hasn’t looked back at him by the time Eugene has packed his pipe. It makes him think he’s done something to anger him, but he isn’t sure what. “Snafu?” 

A grunt. He still doesn’t look over, but he’s listening.

“How come I’m _not_ the girl?”

The question hangs awkwardly for a moment. Shelton still doesn’t look at him. “I ain’t one, either, Gene.”

“You know what I mean.”

It’s quiet for a long time before Shelton pushes off his cot, shuffling over to Eugene and kneeling in front of him. It’s not a common position for them to be in, and Eugene feels the back of his neck flush red as Shelton starts to paw at his dungarees. 

“Don’t —” Eugene grabs his wrist, and Shelton freezes so fast it’s as if he turns to iron in Eugene’s grip. “No, I just mean I — I want… to try.”

Shelton narrows his eyes. “Huh?”

“I can — I can do it for you, instead. They all think I’m the fairy anyhow, right?”

Shelton rips his hand out of Eugene’s grasp, his fist closing around thin air. Glowering, he asks, “And?” 

It shouldn’t be an argument. It isn’t one, but it leaves Eugene speechless. He shrugs, and Shelton goes back to opening his dungarees. 

“ _You_ do it,” Eugene points out quietly as Shelton starts to stroke him.

With a loud snort, he answers, voice dripping with condescension, “You mean suck your cock?”

It’s humiliating to feel the back of his neck turn red. Ignoring it, Eugene adds blatantly, “Or let me fuck you, yeah.” Shelton smiles at him, pleased to force Eugene into swearing, but Eugene scowls. “I can do it, too. I want to try it. You can fuck me.”

The smile on Shelton’s lips flinches away. For a split second, he looks almost pallid. “That ain’t —” he doesn’t have a way to finish his thought, and instead settles on, “Don’t.”

Grotesquely, Eugene is reminded of Peleliu, when he tried to carve the gold from the mouth of a Japanese corpse. The memory makes him flinch, but Shelton had acted the same then. “Why don’t you think I —”

Shelton doesn’t let him finish before swallowing his cock, and Eugene’s words die in his throat. His tongue is warm and soft against his skin, and when Eugene shivers, Shelton looks up at him. 

It knocks the air from Eugene’s lungs, the way Shelton’s eyes pin him down. He can’t breathe, nesting his hands in Shelton’s hair to hold himself steady. The grip causes Shelton’s eyes to slide closed, and Eugene feels a weight push into his chest as he swallows hard against his cock. It’s too much. He feels as if he’s going to break apart before he even gets to come. 

When he speaks, his voice is breathless and hushed, he doesn’t even expect Shelton to hear him. “Look at me, Merriell. Please.”

He waits until the ‘please’ before letting his eyes open, and Eugene’s pulse skips. Shelton’s the one on his knees, mouth stretched wide over Eugene’s cock, but these are still undeniably his rules. The way he drags his mouth down and back again feels more like tugging on reigns than giving them over. The slide of his tongue makes Eugene whimper, and Shelton does it again and again until Eugene is doubled against himself, clenching hard into Shelton’s unkempt hair. 

It doesn’t feel as if he’s allowed to come yet. He watches Shelton’s eyes and wonders if he can tell, if he knows what Eugene is thinking. He wants to ask for Shelton to instruct him to come, but the words lock behind his teeth. He can’t tell if it’s out of fear that Shelton won’t understand what he’s asking for or if it’s out of fear that he will, and that he’ll say no. He doesn’t want to ask, but he can’t stand it. His skin feels raw, and his hands are shaking with an effort to hold on. 

“Merriell,” he chokes, embarrassed by the way he sounds near tears. Shelton looks back at him with an uncommonly serene expression. It feels like permission to speak, and turns his nerves electric. “Please.”

Shelton’s eyes slide closed as he drags his lips from base to tip, and it’s all the answer Eugene gets before his body goes rigid, blood catching fire in his veins as his eyes roll back. The coil in his spine releases, and Shelton makes a muffled sound as Eugene is wrung dry, until his hands fall limp from their hold on Shelton’s hair. He feels gun-weathered hands on his face before his eyes can focus on Shelton, forehead pressed against his and that unrelenting stare watching him blink back.

For a split second, there’s something like shock on Shelton’s face, but by the time Eugene can process it, it’s gone, replaced with a grin.

“That,” he says, placing a kiss in the corner of Eugene’s slack mouth, “is why I do the cock-sucking, _cher._ ”

Eugene is still panting when he grabs Shelton’s elbow, keeping him still. He’s still not sure what this means, for Shelton to play the fairy and still hold all the cards like this, order him around like he has any right. Shelton lets Eugene tug him back down, pull him into a kiss, humming appreciatively when Eugene holds his face still.

It’s strangely thrilling to taste himself in Shelton’s mouth, the way Shelton lets him, cupping the back of his neck to tilt his head when Eugene doesn’t pull away soon enough. There’s a swoop in his stomach as he entwines his fingers with the chain of Shelton’s dogtags and pulls. They could just stay here, settling it out like Burgie wants them to. They can just stay, and not bother leaving the barracks without direct orders.

“You’re a damn harlot,” Shelton says with a laugh as if he’s read Eugene’s mind. 

Eugene snorts, trying to lead Shelton on top of him, but Shelton braces himself against the frame of his cot. 

“Think they gonna notice if we don’t come back, Sledgehammer.” He has a point. Eugene drops his hold with a grunt, and Shelton reaches up to tug affectionately at his red mop of hair. “Let’s go.”


	6. Chapter 6

Before Gibbons’s comment, before Burgie cornered them about it on no uncertain terms, Shelton’s touches had never stood out as overtly peculiar. It had been no question that Eugene was his favourite of the company but the scene he caused in the mess only seemed to goad him into being more demonstrative.

It’s a miracle he doesn’t brave kissing Eugene in front of the rest of the Marines. He has no problem pressing up against him when they stand idle too long in the snow no matter who is watching. As much as Eugene wants to pull away when Shelton toys with his hair while sitting a step or two above him all the times the men all duck into stairwells for smoke breaks, he can’t help but melt into the attention.

No one really makes comments anymore, anyway. Not after watching Gibbons drop like a sack of flour. Pete will still mock and coo at them when they trim each other’s hair, and Burgie will still shoot them warning looks when Shelton’s hands are on him for too long, but no one says anything cruel or direct at either of them. Eugene wonders, often, if they keep that talk for when they’re amongst themselves.

He wonders how bad it is.

It could be worse. The rest of K Company don’t avoid them or treat them any different. The boots were always scared of Shelton and that hasn’t changed, but the vets still treat them normally enough. 

So when Pete returns to the barracks weighted down with an crate full of parcels wrapped in oilcloth, he tosses ones to Eugene and Shelton as well as everyone else in the common hall.

“Old Chinaman sold me some dumplings that’ll keep my dick hard enough to fuck all the whores in Peking!” he shouts, brandishing his box of treasures proudly above his head.

Mac laughs, looking up from the small parcel of wrapped cloth that Pete had tossed him. “You need help with that?” he calls back from behind Shelton.

“Yuk it up,” Pete tells him, setting the crate down on the floor, revealing about thirty dumplings. “You wanna poke fun then I ain’t sharing none with you.”

That shuts Mac up, and Eugene takes a step back as the men flock to the box on the floor. It’s ransacked in less than a minute, and Pete, his mouth full of discoloured meat, teases, “Don’t you want one, Sledgehammer?”

Eugene scoffs, but Redifer speaks before he can turn them down. 

“If he needed one we’d be hearing about it.” He doesn’t say anything further, but he must look at Shelton for some sort of confirmation, because Shelton pulls his cigarette out of his mouth to blow smoke in Redifer’s face.

“Worry about your own cock, John Redifer,” Shelton answers slyly, smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. Eugene tenses, preparing for one of them to throw a punch, but Redifer only takes a large bite out of the dumpling in his hand and grins.

“I plan to.”

Shelton picks one up and inspects it. “He say what’s in ‘em?” he asks curiously, and Eugene notices with a hint of a smile that he hands it off to one of the boots as he comes up to see what all the commotion is about.

“He didn’t English too good,” Pete says around his third dumpling. “Doesn’t matter. If these bastards know one thing, it’s how to fuck.” The men laugh, and Eugene takes a seat next to Shelton to watch the others dig in. Shelton picks up another dumpling and squints at it skeptically.

“You don’t need to be fucking any Chinese whores,” Eugene says under his breath.

“Says you,” Shelton bites back, but he drops the dumpling into the box again and watches Redifer snatch it up.

It’s only a few hours before nearly the entire company is outside, doubled over vomiting in the snow. Eugene watches from the window of the barracks as Shelton stands in the doorway beside him howling with laughter. 

“How’s your cock now, John Redifer?” he bellows, using the door frame to hold himself up. Eugene packs his pipe and tries not to smile wide enough for Shelton to notice.

Later, when Lieutenant Stanley asks why a dozen men have been sent to the sick bay, no one tries to protect Pete from blame, not even any of the men who didn’t bother trying the poison dumplings. It’s obvious enough as it is, Pete having eaten at least three more than anyone else, laying on his elbows retching in the ice. When Stanley tries to pull him up, Pete vomits on his boots. Shelton falls on his ass laughing, and Eugene pushes off from the window to try and pull him inside.

Neither of them are there when the fight breaks out, so they miss the exact reasons as to _how_ Pete manages to smash a window and get landed in the brig. They’re only there half an hour later, when Stanley and Burgie tell them they have nothing to mend the window with and the snow starts to pour into the barracks as the sun goes down. All the men complain of the cold, but with Shelton curled against Eugene every night, he doesn’t feel it quite as badly as the others. 

Still, nobody says anything.

Warm weather becomes so rare that even Shelton and Eugene will venture out to relish the few precious hours of sun. Eugene usually sits near the shade of wide evergreen trees along the edge of the courtyard, playing cards with Burgie, Pete and Redifer in the downtime, enjoying the natural light. He’d never been much for sports aside from hunting, and he’s in no mood for that since arriving in Peking. 

Shelton, however, tries his hand at tennis once or twice with hysterical results, and enjoys sparring with anyone willing to step into the makeshift boxing ring with him.

There aren’t many who are, and most who do change their mind after one round. Shelton is quick and spindly, and Eugene isn’t surprised to learn that he fights dirty. Eugene is always too engrossed not losing his hat in cards to gape too much, but from what he hears, a lot of Shelton’s footwork is not quite regulation.

One of those sunny afternoons, Eugene sits with his back against the tree, Redifer and Burgie with their backs to the ring. Shelton is in there sparring with Frenchy, a rifleman who towers over him and is at least twice as broad. Eugene can’t help himself from glancing up now and again to make sure Shelton doesn’t get his teeth knocked out of his head, but he’s surprised to see how well Shelton holds his own in a fight.

As Eugene watches, Shelton doesn’t land too many punches, but Frenchy doesn’t land many either with how much Shelton ducks and bobs around. With a smirk, Eugene figures that might be half the reason Shelton made it through the war. 

Frenchy aims a throw for Shelton’s head, but Shelton slips out of the way and jabs high, slamming his knuckles against the side of Frenchy’s neck. It’s amazing to see someone so much larger than Shelton react to a hit in hand-to-hand combat, knowing full well that they’ve had the same amount of training.

“Sledgehammer,” Burgie’s voice cuts exasperated through Eugene’s distraction and he glances back to their card game wondering just how long it’s been his turn. “Quit gawkin’ and play your fuckin’ hand, for the love of Christ.”

Face pink, Eugene clears his throat and plays his turn, keeping his eyes on his cards for the remainder of the game. 

Still, it stays on his mind all day, Shelton shifting his weight from one foot to the other like a dance, slamming full force punches into someone large enough to throw Shelton across the courtyard. He forgets the strength and grace Shelton has, just on his own.

It’s late that evening when Eugene asks, stripping off his shirt as they get ready to sleep, “How come you won’t let me?” 

There’s no answer, and when Eugene looks down at Shelton sitting on their cot, he’s acting as if he hadn’t even heard him. Unlacing his boots in the dark, not looking up at Eugene. 

With a sigh, Eugene barks, “Merriell.”

For whatever reason, Shelton can never ignore him when he uses his given name. He tosses his left boot off his foot and glares up at him. “Let you _what?_ ”

He’s stalling, Eugene knows. He shrugs his shoulder, pretending to be unbothered. He works his jaw before speaking, trying to force the back of his neck from burning hot. 

Finally, he mumbles, “Would you have gotten mad enough to throw Gibbons around if he’d called _you_ the fairy?”

The question hangs thick in the air, and Shelton doesn’t have an answer. “Why’s it matter?” he asks instead.

Frowning, Eugene walks up to the cot to stand in front of him. “‘Something I could ask you,” he points out. “We’re both damned already.”

Shelton’s face twists at that, jumping to his feet and shoving Eugene’s chest. “Put that shit out of your head. Damned. That’s bullshit. You ain’t damned.” 

Eugene supposes that answers his question without asking it.

When Eugene doesn’t say anything else, Shelton sits back down to remove his other boot, throwing it down with far more force than necessary. He rips his own shirt over his head and his dogtags clatter loudly against the skin over his breastbone. “Act like you know a fuckin’ thing,” he snaps under his breath. “ _Damned._ ”

“Shelton —”

“Quit askin’ that shit,” he interrupts, his eyes like knives. “Gibbons is a fuckin’ idiot.”

Eugene rolls his eyes. “All I meant — here.” 

He kneels at Shelton’s bare feet, shuffling on his knees until he’s situated comfortably between Shelton’s legs. He doesn’t expect it to change much about the argument, but the air between them seems to vanish. Shelton’s eyes are suddenly fixed away from Eugene’s face, focusing past his throat with his shoulders bracketing his body stiffly. He’s never looked this nervous before, not even amidst gunfire and explosions and screaming Japs. Eugene drops his hand onto Shelton’s knee to try and reassure him, and Shelton’s eyes follow the movement suspiciously. He’s frozen in place until Eugene reaches for the fastenings of Shelton’s dungarees, snapping up to latch onto Eugene’s wrist and squeeze. 

“Don’t —” He doesn’t sound nearly as livid as he had a moment ago. He sounds as if he can’t get his lungs to work, still startled from the sight of Eugene on his knees.

“This ain’t looting Japs in Peleliu, Snaf. Nothing’s worse off for doing it this way.”

Shelton’s scoff comes out far more apprehensive than he probably means it to sound. “You don’t know a damn thing, do you?”

Eugene shakes his head, but Shelton jerks his wrist back, holding him still. “This ain’t how it works, Sledgehammer.” His fingers are wrapped so brutally around Eugene’s wrist that it feels as if they’ll leave prints in his bones. “This — ain’t how it works.” 

His voice is shaking and Eugene can feel his own pulse pushing against Shelton’s fingers. “Why not?”

Glaring, Shelton shakes his head. “You’re not —” His voice is tight, struggling to force more words out of his throat. He’s breathing hard enough that Eugene can watch the panic in his chest. When Eugene tries to touch him, Shelton’s nails bite into his skin. “Stop it.” 

“I’m not what?” Eugene asks quietly. 

Shelton looks alarmingly pained by the question, chewing awkwardly at his lip as he looks down at Eugene’s face. He doesn’t seem to realize he has a question to answer, and Eugene whispers, flexing the fingers going numb in Shelton’s grip. 

“Merriell?”

Shelton drops his wrist. He’s never been this quiet, and it’s making Eugene’s heart flutter warningly in his chest. It takes him too long to compose himself, tilting his head to the side and trying to smirk. 

“You ain’t a cocksucker, Gene.” His voice still sounds tight, but he clears his throat loud enough to almost sound like a laugh. “Mine ain’t for beginners. I don’t want you chokin’ on it.”

“I’ll manage,” Eugene quips back, schooling his expression to stay unimpressed. When Shelton doesn’t have a response, he adds quickly, “If I’m no good at least I have you to teach me.” 

His tone is blatantly sarcastic, but his words affect Shelton enough to seize the argument from his throat. He looks as if he may be blushing again. This time when Eugene reaches for Shelton’s fly, there’s no resistance. He pulls open his dungarees, hesitating longer than he wants to.

“I —”

He doesn’t want to give Shelton any reason to stop him again, wrapping his lips around the tip of his cock. He hears Shelton swear and sucks down hard, keeping his focus on trying not to choke as it slides toward the back of his throat. He doesn’t get far before running out of air and having to pull back, but when Shelton reaches for him to hold him steady, Eugene only swallows him back down. The dense taste of sweat is enough to make him clench his eyes shut, but long fingers frame his face the instant he does. 

“Eyes open, _mon cher._ ”

Swallowing, Eugene forces himself to meet Shelton’s eyes, clouded and dark in the dim light of their smoking lamp. 

With a shaky smile, Shelton purrs, voice uncommonly reverent, “That’s it.”

It’s enough to root Eugene to the floor, his bones heavy as he loses track of where his nerves end. He runs his tongue from base to tip and feels Shelton’s nails dig mercilessly into his jaw. His hips stutter, and Eugene stumbles to move with him. Something about it makes Shelton gasp, grip loosening its hold on Eugene’s jaw. 

“Breathe — breathe for me, Gene,” he whispers, hands shaking. Eugene struggles to breathe through his nose, and the tentative smile is back on Shelton’s face. “Attaboy.”

Eugene’s afraid to break eye contact now that Shelton has asked for it, and watches Shelton’s face as he slides his lips back down again. Shelton whimpers, voice choked when he starts to speak, so quiet Eugene thinks it may only be to himself. 

“ _Bon Dieu,_ you’re — _t’es beau._ ” He smiles then, as if he’s got a secret, and Eugene sucks him back down again to watch his eyes roll back. 

“Good — _there_.” He’s louder now, praising, and Eugene feels a burst of heat bloom from his stomach out, reaching the tips of his fingers. “Good, good, just — just there.”

Overeager, Eugene jerks forward, his gag reflex twitching as Shelton’s cock hits the back of this throat. Shelton pulls him back before he can choke, shushing him gently. 

“You’re good, Sledge,” he says softly, voice thready. “Just here, just like this.”

Struggling to keep watching Shelton, Eugene feels tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He keeps still on his knees, throat working over Shelton’s cock until his head falls back. 

“ _Gene…_ ” Shelton lets out the word like a breath he’s held onto for too long, and Eugene can feel it drag down his spine like fingernails.

The column of Shelton’s throat stretches taut enough that Eugene can see the coils of muscle in the lamplight. He’s still mumbling, forgetting to speak French but no longer making enough sense for Eugene to understand anyway. All Eugene can catch his his name, peppered in between slurred English and bastardized French as if it belongs to punctuate every word. 

When he comes, he takes fistfuls of Eugene’s hair and jerks his head back before he can swallow it all, and it falls bitter and thick onto his lips. Instinctively, Eugene licks his mouth clean, and Shelton blinks, heavy and slow. 

Seconds tick past like hours before Shelton breaks the silence, his voice faint, “You’re fuckin’ trouble.”

Snorting, Eugene answers, voice raw, “ _I’m_ trouble?”

It isn’t until after he challenges him that he realizes Shelton means something else entirely, his expression soft and warm and more open than Eugene has ever seen him. The unnerving scrutiny of his eyes has dulled, and the constant arrogant hint to his smile has gone entirely, leaving his grin easy and relaxed. It’s been like this before, almost. Prior to the surrender, or when Shelton had showed up drunk in their tent. It had been easier for Eugene to brush off, then. Something to tease him for.

_They’re going home with this._

It’s no wonder the men tease them. They’ve both survived now, both sober and safe. There’s women at every turn since they made it to Peking, any one of them willing. There’s no reason anymore for what they’re doing, unless the reason is something they don’t want admit. Unless Shelton doesn’t want to share.

Shelton is still smiling at him, and Eugene feels suddenly dizzy. It’s too honest, now, that silly grin. Eugene’s skin is like pins and needles all over and his mouth is dry. The hand in Eugene’s hair clenches, and Eugene takes it as a signal to sit up on his knees. 

“Trouble. That’s rich, coming from you,” he huffs back finally, voice winded before Shelton closes the distance in a kiss. 

When Eugene moves to pull away, Shelton holds him firmly to his chest. He kisses Eugene’s neck, cradling the back of his head. He whispers Eugene’s name, soft and quiet against his pulse, and Eugene feels the bottom of his stomach fall away as Shelton’s fingers scratch gently down his nape. After too long, he sits back, holding Eugene’s face in his hands to meet his eyes.

“You alright?”

Eugene thinks it’s a joke and laughs, but Shelton doesn’t move. “Yeah,” he admits after a beat, “Yeah, Shelton, I’m fine.” 

Shelton rolls his thumb over Eugene’s lip and doesn’t say anything. There’s no reason for him to look at Eugene like that, like he’s afraid he’s going to break. 

“I’m fine,” Eugene repeats softly, reaching up to wrap his hand around Shelton’s wrist. His pulse is strong against Eugene’s fingers, but he nods. 

His eyes dart over Eugene’s face as if searching for something. He swallows. “Need anything?”

“Are you joking?” Eugene asks in response. Shelton scowls and smacks the back of his head. Eugene laughs, but Shelton only huffs.

“Fine then,” he grumbles, failing to look unruffled as he gropes around for his cigarettes. “See if I ask next time.” 

Eugene watches, smiling, as Shelton pulls a cigarette into his mouth and lights it. Eugene barely gives him the chance to inhale before snatching it out of his mouth and taking his own drag.

They’re unfiltered and stale. He prefers his pipe, but it’s worth it for the stunned look on Shelton’s face before he hands it back. 

“‘Next time,’ he says,” Eugene teases, eyebrows raised as he exhales, and Shelton rolls his eyes. Eugene ignores him, brushing the dirt from his knees as he gets to his feet. “I appreciate you asking,” he adds with a grin before leaning forward and kissing Shelton’s temple. “For next time.”

“Hey.” 

Shelton tugs him down by his wrist before he can stand completely. Before Eugene can blink, Shelton kisses him, longer than he used to, in Okinawa, and Eugene feels an odd sort of thrill at being held low to reach his mouth. He doesn’t say anything else when he pulls back, eyes falling short of meeting Eugene’s as he drops the hold on his wrist. It doesn’t feel like something Eugene should push, so he pretends not to notice.

Wind howls loudly from the common hall some time before dawn breaks, and Eugene wakes up from the sound. He doesn’t even open his eyes, ready to fall back asleep instantly, but his breath catches when he feels the gentle tug of Shelton toying softly with his dogtags. He mumbles sleepily, barely awake enough to get his voice to work. 

“M’rriell?” 

His tags drop suddenly with a quiet tap against his chest, and Shelton doesn’t say anything. Eugene’s asleep again before he can start to wonder why. 

When he wakes again, it’s to the alarm, and Shelton is curled over his chest. When the second blare of the alarm snaps him awake next, he throws an arm over his head and groans.

“C’mon, up and at ‘em,” Eugene grunts, nudging him gently with his knee. Shelton makes a noise that sounds almost like something trying to be words and turns his face into Eugene’s chest. “Stanley’s gonna come in here to get us if you don’t get your ass up.”

“Always wantin’ my ass up,” Shelton slurs with all the attitude he can muster while half-awake. Eugene scoffs and shoves him, sending him toppling to the floor. Shelton lands on the chilly tile with a quiet chuckle, grinning widely without even bothering to open his eyes. 

He’s looser than he’s been, reaching for Eugene’s dogtags when he tips his head over the edge of his rack. 

“We gotta get going,” Eugene scolds him, but Shelton only pulls on him. Tisking, Eugene tries to pry the chain out of Shelton’s hand. “Merriell…”

“C’mere,” Shelton whispers, tugging the chain until Eugene half falls out of his rack and kneels over him. “Say it again.”

“We gotta get going,” Eugene repeats teasingly, smirking. Shelton cuffs the side of his head and laughs hard enough that his head falls back. Eugene’s stomach flutters.

“My name, Gene,” he says breathlessly. His voice like silk wrapping tight around Eugene. “Say my name.”

There’s a quick, loud rap on the door and they jump apart. 

“Rise and shine, boys,” Burgie calls from behind the door. It stands out as something that he wouldn’t normally do, most likely hasn’t done for anyone else in the barracks. If he doesn’t catch them, it’s only speculation. If he doesn’t catch them, there’s nothing he can do.

They don’t move right away, staring wide-eyed at each other from the close call, and something about the way Shelton had asked for Eugene to say his name hangs strangely over them. He’s never asked for it outside of sex. When Eugene does, Shelton acts as if he regrets allowing Eugene to call him anything other than Snafu.

Shelton moves first, getting to his feet and dusting off the back of his dungarees. He shuffles into his coat and throws Eugene his without a word. He’s embarrassed, Eugene realizes belatedly, and clears his throat hurriedly before Shelton can leave. 

“Merriell —”

He’s not sure what he wants to happen when he says it, but Shelton stops moving around and Eugene sees him smile. It feels like relief dripping into his bones. 

“You’re a Goddamn sap, Gene.” His voice is different than it had been before. Soft and low, more to himself than to Eugene. He keeps his head down and buttons his coat, and Eugene forgets himself to watch. “We better move.”

The day seems longer than the ones before it have, and Shelton acts as if he has a secret. He’s reserved and quiet, and when Eugene asks him at lunch if he’s alright, he reaches under the table for his hand, only squeezing his fingers for an instant before placing his hand back in his own lap. 

It causes something bold to swell in Eugene’s chest and he reaches over and grabs his hand back. No one can see, tucked into the far corner of the mess, but Eugene watches his throat work around a lump of panic.

“Something the matter?”

Shelton doesn’t look up as he tugs his arm into himself. “Quit it,” he mumbles, his voice uncommonly shy. 

Eugene feels a twinge of pride when Shelton chews on his lip to keep from smiling. He leans forward, almost brash enough to whisper something in his ear until Burgie slams his tray down next to them. It always feels like pushing it whenever they’re like this in front of Burgie. He hasn’t tried to bring it up to them again since Shelton attacked Gibbons in the mess hall, but he always gives them a stern look when he notices. 

The sun’s getting low in the sky while Eugene and Shelton share a cigarette and watch Burgie whip Pete at tennis from the sidelines. It’s quiet on the Compound. Some of the men from other companies scored liberty passes and have gone in to opium dens for the evening. Everyone’s trying to keep indoors. It had been a warm enough afternoon, but it’s starting to get too cold to stay out much longer. 

An icy gust of wind blows past them, and Shelton presses up against Eugene. They’re sitting far enough away, and Burgie is more than distracted, but the fearless attitude Eugene had earlier has faded too much for him to risk much more than closeness.

He shivers at the feeling of fingers trailing light and curious over his own, and pulls his hand away. They aren’t close enough for Pete or Burgie to see, but it still feels too blatant a movement to try and play off like normal in front of them. 

“And you call _me_ the sap,” Eugene grumbles teasingly under his breath. “Who knew me being the invert would turn you into such a wife?”

Shelton’s spine bolts upright the moment the words are out of Eugene’s mouth, and regret drops in his gut like a rock. Shelton jumps to his feet before Eugene can think to take it back. 

“Fuck you, Eugene.”

His voice bursts out of him loud enough that Pete looks over, the ball sailing over his head. Eugene shrinks into himself and Shelton storms off without him. Eugene stares at his knees until he hears the rhythmic _thwack, thwack, thwack_ of Pete and Burgie returning to their game. When he feels safe that they aren’t watching him, he gets up and follows after Shelton.

He knocks on the door before opening it, more of a courtesy alert than anything else. Shelton is laying on the bed blowing smoke at the overhead, and doesn’t acknowledge Eugene as he shuts the door behind himself and walks up to the rack. 

“Merriell…”

“Don’t gimme that shit,” Shelton interrupts, voice sharp. “I ain’t gonna melt for you just ‘cause you know my Goddamn name.”

“I wasn’t —” The implication makes Eugene blush. “Shelton, c’mon —”

Despite his outburst, it’s as if it stings for Eugene to call him anything else. His face twists slightly as he brings the cigarette to his mouth. He doesn’t have anything further to say, and Eugene isn’t sure how to proceed.

“I didn’t mean nothing by — I’m sorry.”

Shelton doesn’t react, and Eugene’s not sure what else to say. He’s not even sure what he did wrong in the first place. 

They’re quiet for a long time before Eugene finally ventures, “Why does it matter so much?” 

Shelton doesn’t respond. He’s going to make Eugene say it. 

“You’re not protecting me from anything, being the fairy.”

Still no answer. Eugene’s not exactly sure what Shelton wants from him to make it better. 

“Even if you weren’t. Even if you wanted me to— I’d still — I’d still want it to be you.”

It’s uncomfortable to say. Too close. The ember of Shelton’s cigarette is low enough that he flicks it to the floor. “You’re a Goddamn idiot, Gene.” 

Eugene nods, because there’s no point in arguing. Shelton is still glaring at the smoldering butt on the floor.

“Merriell,” he says after a moment of too much silence. Shelton looks up at him, a hint of relief on his face that vanishes when Eugene says flatly, “I want to.”

With a long sigh, Shelton gropes for his cigarettes again, but when he pulls the beaten pack out of his pocket, Eugene covers it with his hand before he can take another. 

“Merriell…” Shelton drops his head back, exasperated, but lets Eugene take the pack from his hand and set it down beside him. “Please.” 

Trying to be brave, he swings a leg over Shelton’s lap, bracketing his knees on either side of him, and Shelton goes still. His head snaps up and he gapes, stunned to actually find Eugene in his lap.

“Gene —” his voice sounds dry and quiet, and Eugene leans forward to take his mouth in a kiss. He grinds his hips a little against Shelton, friction sending a thrill up his spine, but Shelton snatches hold of his waist and squeezes. “Stop.”

Eugene does as he’s told, but can’t help the whine that leaves his mouth as he does. Shelton twitches slightly at the sound, and after a pause Eugene is brave enough to rut into him again. This time, Shelton doesn’t stop him. Encouraged, Eugene grabs a fistful of his hair.

“Merriell,” he hisses, lips against his jaw, “c’mon, please.” 

He doesn’t pull away until he feels Shelton’s grip go lax on his hips. He hesitates for less than a breath and digs the rifle oil out of his pocket and presses it into Shelton’s hand. 

“I’m asking nice,” Eugene whispers into his skin. 

A startled laugh bursts out of Shelton’s chest and he stares down at the tin in his hand. Finally, he nods, not looking up at Eugene, not saying anything. Eugene’s heart jumps to his throat and he gets up and shuffles out of his dungarees. When he tries to crawl back into Shelton’s lap he grabs Eugene’s arm. 

“Lay down. On your back.” 

He sounds so serious that Eugene doesn’t argue. Without a word, he gets situated on the cot, watching as Shelton strips his own clothes off. He moves quick and silent, and it makes Eugene’s heart race without reason. He had been so sure he wasn’t queer when this started. He’s not sure what he is now. He still likes girls, but Shelton doesn’t share, and Eugene doesn’t want him to. 

Shelton’s hands are chilly and delicate on Eugene’s skin as he stretches over him carefully. He bows his head to kiss Eugene’s neck before slicking his fingers. 

“S’alright,” Shelton murmurs against his throat. “I’ve got you.”

His fingers are cold when they touch him, and Eugene jolts a little, gasping when Shelton reflexively holds him down. 

“Relax,” Shelton repeats firmly, “Gonna take care of you.” Something clenches in Eugene’s chest and he nods, holding himself still as Shelton tries again to slide a finger inside him.

It’s an odd feeling, not what he had expected, not particularly good, but not bad either. Shelton is watching his face without blinking, his free hand reaching up to cup his cheek. 

“Look at me, Gene,” he whispers, his voice tight as if he’s holding something back. When Eugene meets his eyes, Shelton smiles. “Attaboy.”

It’s almost calming, somehow, and Eugene forces himself to keep eye contact as Shelton eases another finger into him. It pinches uncomfortably and starts to feel like too much as he moves them, and he clenches his teeth. 

“Relax, _mon cher,_ it’s alright.” Eugene can barely hear him over the pounding blood in his ears, but he touches Eugene’s face as if it’s made of glass, and he sounds so earnest that Eugene’s body starts to go limp.

Shelton is so close to him, breathing the air right out of his mouth, and he won’t look away from Eugene’s face. He twists his wrist slightly, and nimble fingers roll over a spot inside of him until suddenly, electricity sparks all the way up Eugene’s spine. He gasps, shocked, his eyes rolling back, and he hears Shelton let out a pleased little sigh. 

“That’s it.” 

He does it again, and Eugene hears his own voice running without meaning to speak. Shelton smiles gentler than he usually does, and this time when he adds another finger, Eugene whines for it. It’s too much without being enough, and Eugene grinds back onto his hand. 

Shelton watching him like that gets under his skin. He can’t think, groaning over Shelton’s quiet hushing in his ear. He knows he’s being too loud. Someone’s going to hear them. He’s begging and whimpering, Shelton’s name over and over until Shelton has to press his palm over Eugene’s mouth. It’s like a switch shutting Eugene off from the neck up. His hand whips out to latch onto Shelton’s hair and meet his eyes, and Shelton smiles at him. 

“Alright,” he purrs, as if Eugene has said something, “Alright, I’ve got you.”

When he pulls his hand away, Eugene cries out behind Shelton’s fingers, feeling abruptly empty. He squirms, and Shelton’s slick hand holds down his hips. 

“Be still,” he tells Eugene sternly. Eugene goes limp, and Shelton maneuvers him into his lap.

The pressure of his cock is different than his hand, stretching him too wide, and Eugene’s back arches clear off the cot. Nothing’s felt anything close to this before, a solid mass of pressure under his ribs. He feels oddly safe, protected. Shelton holds him down, pressing hard into his hip bones on either side and keeping his face close to Eugene’s to kiss the breath out of him if he gets too loud again. It’s like molten iron in his blood and chilly water in his lungs. Eugene can’t move, he can’t breathe. His fingers are clenched tight in Shelton’s hair as he slides in as far as he can and everything stops around them.

Shelton doesn’t move and Eugene can’t stop trembling, trying to force words out of his mouth that aren’t Shelton’s name. He can’t think past the way Shelton feels, the hands on his face, the lips grazing his own as they move. 

“Gene,” Shelton whispers, his voice tight, “Gene, breathe.” 

Eugene takes a gasping breath and lowers his back down to the cot. Shelton runs his thumb over Eugene’s cheekbone and lets out a sigh. 

“Gene,” he says again, hand sliding down to cup the back of his head. He swallows hard, teeth clenched and trembling. “You okay?”

When Eugene nods, Shelton adds gently, “I’m gonna move now, yeah?” 

Eugene gives another nod, and the electric sensation moves through him again as Shelton works his hips. The sound that wrenches out of his mouth is pitiful and humiliating, but Shelton kisses his face, shushing him tenderly. 

“It’s alright, Gene,” he says against his temple, peppering his skin with kisses, “It’s alright.”

He moves slowly until he doesn’t, until Eugene grabs his shoulders and whines, “ _Please,_ ” so loudly he can feel the chill roll down Shelton’s spine. His hands are everywhere, touching Eugene’s face, grabbing his hair, moving his hips or holding down his shoulders. He can’t seem to decide where he wants him, and Eugene wants to be everywhere at once. He lets himself be moved around with Shelton’s direction. It feels as if he’s sunk deep into Eugene’s skin. He couldn’t move on his own if he wanted to.

French starts to fall from Shelton’s mouth like water, soft and quiet as his face is curled close to Eugene’s. “ _Je suis à to’,_ ” he murmurs, kissing Eugene’s cheek. “ _Seulement à to’._ ” 

Eugene’s not sure what it means, but something heavy starts to pull at the bottom of his ribs as if he should. He nods, agreeing to whatever it is, and Shelton gasps, snatching a handful of Eugene’s hair to hold him still. Eugene can feel him shaking, desperate. His hand sweeps over Eugene’s cheek again and he realizes with minor horror that tears are welling in his eyes. He’s closer than he feels he should be. It’s barely been any time at all. He just needs a little more. 

Shelton buries his face in Eugene’s shoulder, whimpering as he pushes into him. “ _Je t’aime,_ Gene,” he whispers, voice muffled, and Eugene’s heard that phrase before, somehow, somewhere, but he can’t place it now. Shelton’s hands are shaking and he’s holding onto Eugene as if he’s afraid he might shatter. His slick hand grapples for Eugene’s cock and strokes it, his other hand like a vice on the back of his neck. “Gene…”

He sounds near tears, and it makes Eugene dizzy, lost in the sensation of Shelton being both inside him and on top of him. It feels like too much and he still needs more. He whimpers Shelton’s name, a quiet pleading noise without even understanding what he wants. 

Whatever it is, Shelton doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t tell him anything, but Eugene can hear a growl at the back of his throat, wordlessly ordering, and bites down hard on his collarbone as Eugene comes. 

He can feel Shelton’s eyes trained on him as he does, his skin tingling and too-hot and his whole body like stone weighing him down. Shelton’s hips are getting erratic as they jerk into him, starting to lose track of himself. Eugene feels as if he’s bursting at the seams, the lines of his body blurring out of focus. He hears the whisper of Shelton trying to quiet him, fingers limp over his mouth as he tries to muffle whatever sound Eugene is making as Shelton starts to come. It’s hot and full and too much and when Shelton bites down on Eugene’s shoulder to hold back his own sounds, Eugene feels as if his spine has turned to liquid. 

“Merriell,” he whines under Shelton’s fingers, feeling Shelton kiss weakly at his throat. Shelton goes heavy on top of him, lazy and warm, and it feels instantly as if he’s falling asleep on Eugene’s chest. 

When Shelton finally moves to pull out, Eugene takes his face in his hands and kisses him. Shelton grins against the kiss, sleepy and warm, and drops his head back into the crook of Eugene’s neck. 

“Y’Alright?” he asks, voice slurred as he lifts his head to meet Eugene’s eyes. He looks as if he’s ready to fall asleep where he’s lying, but his eyes are sharp, inspecting him. 

Eugene nods, but by the time he does he’s forgotten the question. 

Shelton sees it in his face, whatever it is. “You sure?”

He sounds so anxious, and Eugene doesn’t know why. “S’fine,” he manages, but that doesn’t seem to help.

“Gene,” Shelton’s voice sounds oddly panicked, and something calm and fond rolls through Eugene. “You — did I hurt —?” He swallows, too embarrassed to finish his question once he’s already halfway through it. “You alright?” he repeats instead after a moment. 

“Merriell.” It’s hard to force his mouth around the word to make it clear enough to understand. The apprehensive look on Shelton’s face doesn’t fade, and Eugene schools his expression to go soft, smiling. “I’m fine,” he says breathlessly. “Everything’s fine.” 

Every movement is work. His body feels drunk, limbs like lead and clumsy when he tries to hold Shelton’s face. 

The laugh he gets in response is a bit of a shock. Shelton almost sounds hysterical, giggles bursting out of him as if he’d been holding them back for some time. “Shit, Sledgehammer, didn’t know my cock could fuck that big ol’ brain right out your head.” He waves a hand in front of his face. “How many fingers?”

Eugene snorts, and it makes a smile twitch at the corner of Shelton’s mouth. He drops his hand to curl around Eugene’s jaw. The touch makes Eugene’s breath catch in his chest, and Shelton licks his lips. 

“Need — need anything?” he asks after a long drag of silence, smile as shaky as his voice. He’s reluctant to ask again after the way Eugene had teased him before. Eugene doesn’t laugh this time, shaking his head honestly.

“I’m okay, Merriell,” he answers, voice still sounding muffled to his own ears. Shelton nods in response and finally drops his head back onto Eugene’s chest.

It’s a while before Eugene’s mind has cleared at all, and when Shelton mumbles his name sleepily against his skin, he knows suddenly where he’d heard that line of French before. His back goes rigid at the memory. He’d seen it in an old Clark Gable picture once. He knows what it means. His whole body feels abruptly numb, replaying the last few minutes in his head to try and wrap his mind around it. He swallows hard, not wanting to let on about what he’s thinking, but Shelton had felt him go tense, and sits up against him.

“What’s the matter, _cher?_ ”

Eugene can’t tell if Shelton has always been this earnest, or if he’s only just noticing it now that he knows more than Shelton wants him to. His heart is thudding so hard in his chest Eugene’s almost positive Shelton can hear it, can feel it pounding under the fingers he has splayed over his chest. He hasn’t said anything, staring blankly at Shelton, and it causes Shelton to shift with nervous worry. 

“Gene?”

“I’m — I’m fine,” Eugene blurts at last. Sweat rolls down his neck, and his breathing is too quick. Too much is coming to light too soon and he doesn’t know what to say or do. He wants so badly to say it back, but it stays trapped behind his teeth. Shelton doesn’t know — _can’t_ know — that he understood. “It’s fine, Merriell. I’m fine. Promise.”

“You, ah…” 

Shelton stops talking, and for one wild moment Eugene thinks he can tell he’s been understood. He opens his mouth to deny it, but Shelton’s fingers are delicate on his jaw cause him to falter. He’s staring at Eugene like he wants to say it again, say it in English, and Eugene takes a deep breath in hopes that he might. It feels like time has stopped by the time Shelton finally clears his throat.

“How’s it — did you like it?”

The breath Eugene’s held onto bursts out of him so hard it sounds almost like a sob. He nods, humiliated at how tight his throat feels when he croaks, “Yeah.” It’s not enough, so he swallows and adds hastily, “I really… yeah.”

He wants to elaborate, but he doesn’t know how. Even knowing what he does, it still feels too open to admit how good it felt. 

Shelton licks his lips, eyes darting over Eugene’s face. Eugene watches the wheels turn in his head before he leans forward to kiss him again. He can feel Shelton trembling over him and tries to hold him still, but Shelton only shakes out of his grip to push Eugene’s arms back against the cot. 

It’s frigid and sweltering all at once and Shelton whispers under his breath, “Tell me.”

A shiver wracks through Eugene’s body, and his brain stumbles to keep up. “Merriell…” 

Fingers go tight around his wrists and he whimpers. Shelton’s mouth is on his neck when he lets out a shaky breath. “Please,” he murmurs, voice gentler than usual. Begging. “Gene, tell me.”

“I like it,” Eugene admits before he can overthink. “I like — all of it, everything.” Shelton stares back at him, eyes bright, and Eugene hears it again, the tender, hushed sound of his voice against his skin. _Je t’aime, Gene._ He closes his eyes, too embarrassed to see Shelton’s face as he lets himself admit further. “I like when you talk to me.”

“ _Vraiment?_ ” Shelton asks, voice gravelly against his ear with the hint of a laugh in his words. “ _T’es facile à plaire._ ”

He wants to hear it again, but he can’t possibly ask. He listens to the soft little murmurs of nonsensical French kissed against his neck, words starting to blur together as Shelton starts to fall asleep. Eugene starts drifting off himself when Shelton repeats it, whispered slurred and sweet into Eugene’s mouth. “ _Je t’aime,_ Gene.”

It’s warm honey on his skin, and Eugene moans. He’d never expected this to happen, or even wanted it to, before. This had started out so differently and now it’s so much so fast and Eugene’s head is spinning. 

He bites his tongue to keep from saying it back, startled by how much he wants to. 

He kisses him without a word until Shelton yawns and tucks his head under Eugene’s chin. It’s quiet in their barracks, dark and still outside by now, other than the falling snow. It’s too late for the stragglers to still be out and not yet late enough for the morning crowd to start bustling. It feels, strangely, like they’re the only two people awake in this whole country. The need to tell him continues to itch at Eugene’s skin, but he doesn’t. Instead, he mouths it silently to the overhead, testing the way it feels. _I love you, too._

That night, he dreams of home. Of Sid and of his family, sitting together in their pew at church. He can hear the faded drone of the pastor ahead of them, and Sid nudges his elbow into Eugene’s ribs and points at Mary Houston one pew ahead. She’s beautiful in her starched Sunday dress and her hair pinned back, but his eyes fall on the man beside her. Clean and rested in a suit jacket and tie, Shelton turns to face Eugene, draping his elbow over the back of the pew.

“Wanna scram?” he asks with a leering wink, and Eugene can’t hear his own answer over the pastor’s sermon, his words getting louder every second without getting any clearer. Eugene feels abruptly humiliated. Sid’s eyes are on him and his parents are asking questions, still too quiet to hear over the pastor’s voice. When he tries to stand and leave, Shelton leans forward as if he’s going to kiss him.

Eugene wakes with a start, and Shelton swears as he jolts him nearly off the cot. At first, Shelton only grumbles snappishly at him for waking up before the alarm, and tries to situate himself on the cot again before Eugene feels his body go stiff with the memory of last night. 

Shelton sits up and squints blearily at Eugene. “Y’alright?”

He nods before he realizes how sore he is, and groans. Shelton huffs a laugh, kissing Eugene’s cheek. 

“I mean besides,” he admits softly, rolling fingers sweetly over his hip. “Ain’t nothin’ I can do for that.” 

Even as he says it, he kneads the pads of his fingers into Eugene’s hips, trying to massage the ache away. Eugene’s mouth is dry as he watches Shelton’s face, eyes lidded and smile easy. Eugene remembers his dream and feels the hair at the back of his neck prickle upright. He’s going home. He lost his virginity to his mean-spirited gunner in a muggy tent in Okinawa and he didn’t stop, even after the war did. They’ll go home and pretend it didn’t happen, but it did. He’ll lie every day to his mother and father. He’ll lie to Sid. He’ll lie in church every Sunday, but God will know what he’s done. He’ll know that Eugene likes it. He’ll know that Shelton loves him.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

Shelton loves him.


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning, Eugene feels different. Lighter. Peking isn’t as intimidating as it was the day before. There’s a bravery singing under his skin he wishes had been there during war. It’s as if he fits better in his own skin. It’s easier to leave the barracks. Sitting at the mess, it’s as if people can tell. He’s changed, somehow. He’s better. He’s better, and Shelton loves him.

It’s obvious in everything, now. The way Shelton brushes against him when they walk, the tone of his voice whenever he tells Eugene anything. Shelton sits so close, constantly desperate to touch him, and lays sprawled over him at night. Eugene wishes he could ask how long Shelton’s known. He thinks he can ballpark it, before the surrender, possibly, when Shelton thought he was going to die with it. 

Or maybe that’s just how long Eugene’s loved him. 

Despite the way the other Marines talk, Eugene has no interest in the opium dens. The effect sounds enjoyable, but all Eugene has witnessed is the mornings after; men stumbling in from the city late to roll call, vomiting gruesomely outside the door of the barracks and complaining of headaches until they pass out in their racks. Lieutenant Stanley and the MPs seems willing to turn the other cheek for the most part now that the war is over, though Eugene is willing to bet it’s only because dosing and withdrawal seems to be their own punishment.

Shelton never mentions trying it either. Eugene sees him sitting out smoking with nodding Marines outside the barracks when they crawl back in the middle of the night, but all Shelton ever puts to his lips are cigarettes.

One night, Eugene sits out in the courtyard with him, cleaning his pipe while Shelton and Anderson have a conversation that only seems to make sense from Shelton’s end. He wonders, listening to Anderson chatter on absurdly about how much he missed his bedroom light, if it’s that Shelton is curious to listen to how the men talk while out of it. Like he’s studying them. He doesn’t seem to have any interest, but Eugene wonders how different Shelton would be on the stuff.

He doesn’t ever get the chance to find out. Stanley’s lenience backfires when Mac nods off while on patrol duty. 

“If we had still been at war,” Stanley tells them as they stand at attention during roll call the next morning, “There’d be so many Japs up your asses you’d be collecting rent.” 

When no one reacts, Stanley clicks his tongue.

“You boys are starting to forget where you are,” he says, voice raised loud enough to carry over the courtyard. “We’re gonna have to start cracking down around here.” 

The phrasing makes Shelton and Eugene look nervously at each other, only for a moment. This isn’t about them and they know it, but it still makes the air seem thin. Stanley is still standing in front of them, shouting over the quiet murmurs of the nervous Marines. 

“Anyone caught visiting one of those Goddamn opium dens from now on will be sent down to the brig,” he turns to Mac, slumped over tiredly in front of him, and sneers, “Starting with you, son.”

Before Mac can react, Stanley straightens his back to regard the rest of them. 

“If anyone else is curious to feel what it’s like to come down in the brig, let me know. Otherwise, keep your troubles to liquor and Luckys like we do back home.”

For an instant, Eugene feels Stanley’s eyes on him. He’s too scared to look up, in case he might know. 

By the time Mac returns from the brig, opium has become almost entirely taboo on the Compound. He looks smaller, haggard, and unbelievably tired, and the men all try to coax him out for a drink, but Mac declines. All he wants to do is sleep.

It’s that same night that Shelton scrambles awake from a dead sleep, snapping Eugene conscious when he sits up from the cot, air wheezing out of him. 

“What?” Eugene asks blearily, “What’s happening?”

He jostles up to squint at Shelton, who seems to only just now realize that whatever it was to frighten him no longer exists in front of him. Eugene watches reality seep back into him, his shoulders sagging in the dim light of the early morning. 

“Hey,” Eugene whispers, his hand hovering over Shelton’s arm in an aborted attempt at comfort.

Shelton tenses at the sound of his voice. 

“It’s fine,” Shelton says after a beat, sounding terse.

Eugene doesn’t believe him, but there’s nothing to say. Both of them are quiet for a moment. When Shelton lies back down, Eugene thinks of the nightmare he’d had in Okinawa, after the first night they’d slept together. He wonders, briefly, if Shelton’s ever had similar nightmares of Eugene’s dying.

When Eugene curls up beside him, Shelton takes the hand nearest to him and pulls it across his chest. It’s the closest thing to a confirmation Eugene gets.

The next morning, they go out. 

The men have all returned to the barracks chattering about Tiananmen Square and the Forbidden City, but with Eugene’s nerves and a scarcity of liberty passes following the opium moratorium neither he nor Shelton have gotten a chance to see it. So when the K Company mortar squads are given a day pass, the two of them decide to make the trek with Pete, Redifer and Burgie, all of whom have been before. 

“Nice to see you’re feeling better, Sledgehammer,” Burgie tells him as they walk down a bustling cobblestone road, clapping him on the back. “I’d hate for you to miss out on all the experience.” 

The sun’s low in the sky for noon, but the air is still clear and unseasonably warm. Many of the locals are milling about the gates once they reach them. Shelton stays close, wary of Eugene, but Eugene feels more aware of Shelton than himself after the night before. He keeps his hands clenched at his sides to stop from grabbing his hand.

The square itself is wide and open and full of colour. Local farmers and merchants wander about the space with their mules, fitted with carts full of intricate wooden trinkets, waving excitedly at their uniforms as they walk past. Food stalls are every dozen feet, roasted ducks hanging just underneath their large wooden signs. Red paper lanterns line the sky, tracing down to the gate to the Forbidden City. It looks gorgeous, spots of red in the foggy distance. Taller buildings stand out from behind the trees, painted brilliantly against the grey light of the winter sun. When Redifer catches them staring off at the city, he mentions he’s taken a bit of a tour just inside. He tells them, having heard from an English-speaking local, that no one used to be allowed past the gates. 

“Last emperor died the year I was born,” he says proudly, as if that gives him some sort of status.

Shelton doesn’t seem too impressed. He takes a moment to light a cigarette on the steps of a temple, and Eugene sits beside him. He wants to ask about last night, but he can tell Shelton won’t share anything with him. It’s starting to get brisk as the sun sinks lower toward the horizon, and when Eugene shivers, Shelton gets to his feet. 

“Wanna see the inside?” he asks with mild curiosity.

It’s obvious that Shelton is just trying to avoid a conversation he doesn’t want to have, but Eugene is cold enough to get to his feet and wander past the open doorway of the temple, a way out of the chilly wind. The interior is round and soaring with intricate roof beams and lattice. The curved walls are thick, ornately painted wood covered in hanging scrolls and carvings of dragons and phoenixes and other beasts, looking down at him with misplaced reproach.

Unbidden, the memory of Eugene’s dream floats through his head. There are no pews in this temple, no crosses, no priests or hymnbooks, but something about this room still feels familiar, like a vague sense of anxious judgement weighing on his shoulders. He takes an awkward knee, unsure as he hits the ground if this is even an action he should take here. He reaches into the breast pocket of his coat and runs a finger over the rubber pouch holding his bible. He knows he shouldn’t pray to other gods, that He is always listening, but something about this elaborate room with its grinning carvings feels forgiving and absolving about everything he’s done in a way he knows his church in Mobile will not.

“Hey.”

Fingers brush along the back of Eugene’s neck and he turns his head to see Shelton watching him, cigarette still hanging limply in his mouth. Eugene feels oddly exposed and gets to his feet. 

“You can’t smoke in here,” he scolds without even being sure if it’s true. Shelton raises his eyebrows, but pinches the ember of his cigarette in compliance.

“Find what you lookin’ for?” Shelton asks as tucks his cigarette behind his ear, a mocking tone to his voice, and Eugene frowns.

“What do you think I’m looking for?”

Shelton grunts. “Hell if I know. I ain’t lookin’ for it.”

It stings to hear, inexplicably. Eugene scowls. Maybe it’s because he knows he won’t find it. Not here, and not home. Forgiveness isn’t something he deserves anymore. After all the death he’s become numb to, after falling in love with his gunner. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to look for it alone, not when Shelton is scared, too. He wonders, briefly, why he’s still even trying. 

Shelton doesn’t seem to realize his words had any effect on Eugene. He’s biting absently at his nails as he inspects the idols carved into the wall. 

“Ain’t none of these yours,” he says after a moment.

With a shake of his head, Eugene admits, “Doesn’t matter.”

For an instant, it looks as if Shelton might say something. About the two of them, about last night, maybe even about the recognizable French he purred in Eugene’s ear just days ago. Eugene holds his breath.

Before Shelton can open his mouth, there’s a sudden commotion outside. Some sort of loud rustling followed by familiar voices. They can hear Burgie and Pete talking excitedly just outside, and Shelton turns on his heel and hops down the steps to find out why before Eugene can stop him. Disappointed, Eugene follows.

“Stanley’s gonna have something to say about it if you keep it,” Burgie says as Eugene walks up to them. He sounds like a mother scolding a misbehaving child. 

Pete has a small lump bundled in his coat that Eugene doesn’t notice until Shelton pokes at it before relighting his cigarette.

“Stanley don’t have to know about it,” Pete whines, taking a step away from Shelton’s prying. “Cats are quiet little things.”

Snorting, Shelton flicks at his cigarette. “You ain’t never had a cat,” he says, popping his cigarette back in his mouth and trying to peer under Pete’s coat.

Pete, disbelieving, snaps back, “Have _you?_ ” 

“Sure,” Shelton answers with a flippant shrug, giving Pete’s coat a nudge and watching the lump squirm, “Mama had one.” 

It’s the first mention of his mother Shelton has made since he’d admitted she was dead to Eugene, and something about it feels incredibly tender. Eugene watches as Shelton wiggles his fingers at the opening in Pete’s coat.

A tiny grey paw reaches out to bat at his hand, and Shelton grins down at it. “What’re you gonna feed it, Fouts? Them whore-fucker dumplings of yours?”

When Eugene laughs, Shelton smiles at him. Eugene forgets, for a moment, that there’s any reason to worry about him. Redifer sidles up to them with a grin as the others start to laugh, and Pete lets him take a peek into the coat.

Shelton turns his attention back as Redifer coos at it. “Little guy’ll be good help ‘round the barracks,” he says, “Keep away rats and things. Stanley won’t mind if we keep ‘im.”

Pete beams at the idea, and Redifer pulls the little thing out of the cradle of Pete’s jacket to get a better look at him. It’s grey and white and impossibly small, shivering in the cold, and when it mewls pitifully at being jostled in Redifer’s wide palms, Burgie seems touched. After a moment, his eyebrows raise, an accepting slack to his face. 

“Fair enough.”

The five of them take turns snuggling the little thing close while walking through the city. They buy stew from one of the vendors, and all feed the kitten bits of meat to see who it prefers to sit next to. The sun has started to set by the time they decide to head back. They spend the walk debating names for their new mascot, Redifer and Shelton claiming to have better suggestions than the rest of them before thinking up entirely different ones. At his turn, Shelton holds the kitten to his face and imitates its quiet meowing before dropping it in the breast pocket of his coat. 

When it starts to purr, Shelton claims boldly, “Little pussy likes me best, anyway.”

Pete groans. The others laugh.

When the kitten’s passed to Eugene, he’s reminded of picking Deacon out of his aunt’s spaniel’s litter as a boy. The thing purrs and nuzzles up against his hands, cold from the open air after spending an hour in Shelton’s pocket.

Shelton’s voice cuts into his thoughts. “Sledgehammer should name him.”

Eugene glances up from the cat with a puzzled look, and Shelton gives him a shrug. “Only fair, after your dog and all.”

Eugene smiles at him. He doesn’t get a chance to respond before Pete stomps through the snow to snatch him out of Eugene’s hands. 

“Fair’s _me_ naming him,” he snaps. Eugene glances away from Shelton long enough to watch Pete clutch the cat to his chest before turning back to him. “ _I_ found him.”

Shelton glares. “Fair ‘cause it’s the only pussy you’ll ever get a hold of, Fouts,” he says snidely, but Eugene just grins.

He loves him.

The moment they return to the Compound with their cat, they’re swarmed. Most of the men have animals waiting for them at home with their families. One boot claims the cat looks just like his sister’s cat back home. “He looks just like Mittens,” the kid tells them excitedly, “We should name him Mittens.”

“I ain’t naming him after your sister’s cat,” Pete grumbles, but the boot ignores him. He repeats the name several times to the tiny waggling ball of fur, until the rest of the men start to copy him. Shelton’s voice, once he starts, is the loudest. 

The days have gotten so short so quickly that they hardly ever venture outside anymore unless they have to. Even the Captains don’t seem to want to spend time outside. Rifle drills are early, when the sun is at its highest in the sky, and everything else is done inside. Mess duty. Reports. No one wants to leave the barracks after the sun is down by 1600.

For the most part, the men spend their free time playing cards, writing letters and messing with Pete’s cat, feeding it scraps, tossing little balls of paper or dangling bits of string at him until he falls dead asleep in the nearest warm lap. Shelton’s heinous blue jokes aside, the cat does seem to prefer him most, which he celebrates with more vulgar puns that make Pete grind his teeth.

The cat becomes such a constant around the K Company barracks that the other companies start to refer to it a mascot. Some of the men from How company take to calling them Kitty Company whenever any of them walk by. It doesn’t take too long until it sticks among the rest of Marines. 

Shelton embraces the joke, and grins at anyone who laughs at him when he’s caught playing with the cat. After that, Pete stops letting the tiny thing leave his and Redifer’s bunk.

It’s been days, and despite Eugene’s hopes and patience Shelton doesn’t repeat the phrase to him again. Shelton must know that if he says it too often, Eugene will have an excuse to ask what it means. But he doesn’t have to say it out loud again for Eugene to know anymore. It’s in the way he touches Eugene’s face when they’re lying curled into each other on their cot. It’s in the soothing tunes he’ll hum against Eugene’s ear as he’s falling asleep. Eugene hopes he says it back, in similar ways. He hopes Shelton knows.

It’s on Eugene’s tongue at every turn, just barely contained. In the mornings, waking to the brazen sound of trumpets and Shelton cursing over bad coffee. Sitting in the crowded mess for meals, or walking the streets in the snow. Any moment they have alone, he wants to drag Shelton close and mutter it in his ear. 

The urge is harder to ignore now than Eugene thinks it would have been months ago. Days go slower here in Peking than Eugene thinks they ever could have, even before a time where he knew what war really was. Even with all the rifle drills and patrol duty, everything they do with paperwork and mop up, nothing seems as real as it had on Okinawa. It wasn’t that long ago that every breath they took was almost certainly their last. Every rustle within earshot could be death coming for them.

Now, the most daunting thing left in Eugene’s life is rack inspections. There’s no reason for Stanley to be able to tell that the two of them have only slept in one cot since Okinawa, but every time he storms in barking for them to stand at attention Eugene feels something sick and heavy in his gut, convinced the officers will find out. Know, somehow, that Shelton has not slept in his own cot once since they arrived here. Know that they sleep warm and close against each other on the same frail mattress.

He wonders if Shelton thinks the same way, but he doubts it. Shelton never seems to be worried about anything involving the other men. If anything, it seems as if he _wants_ them to know. As if he has a claim to lay. 

Palms sweating as Stanley kicks out the underside of Shelton’s rack with an air of suspicion, Eugene reminds himself that he does.

Shelton loves him.

The company did manage to fix the window Pete had smashed with some tape and old cardboard some time after it was broken, but after particularly windy nights, it tends to fall away regardless. The men have been forced to retape it multiple times. It keeps out enough of the cold to be bearable, but the chilly wind still rages just outside while K Company crams into the barracks at night. 

It’s billowing hard outside that night when Eugene has his bible pressed open on his knee while Shelton is sitting propped up against the wall by his head, his elbow resting on the corner of the cot and smoke billowing lazily out of his mouth. They haven’t shared a word in over an hour, and Eugene realizes he had stopped writing to watch Shelton some time ago.

Every minute since he’s realized Shelton’s words has been excruciating. His skin seems to burn with the effort to keep quiet. His tongue feels too light, as if the words will fall out of his mouth any second, and Eugene realizes with a bolt, that nothing should keep him from his own confession.

Admitting he understood Shelton’s would feel like a lie, and might spook him away entirely, but if Eugene confesses first then there’s nothing to hide from. It might be enough. Something else can happen, instead of the desperate itching of Eugene’s hands every time Shelton leans in to kiss him. Because he knows. He shouldn’t know, but he does, and maybe that’s where the unfairness lies. Not that Eugene knows, but that Shelton doesn’t.

“Hey, Snafu?”

Shelton raises his eyebrows. “Mm?”

“I love you.”

It hangs between them in the air like the smoke on Shelton’s breath. He doesn’t react at all, and Eugene thinks for a moment that he may not have heard. 

Finally, Shelton clears his throat and looks down at his cigarette. “No, you don’t.”

After everything Eugene’s grappled with since Shelton whispered it to him days ago, it feels anticlimactic and abrupt and _wrong._ He shakes his head. “What —?”

“It’s fine,” Shelton says before Eugene can recover. He flicks ash at his boots. “You don’t gotta. Ain’t got nothin’ to do with what we’re doin’.”

Eugene bites his tongue to stop himself from arguing. It’s like ice water in his blood. “Why not?” he asks instead. 

He watches Shelton rock his weight awkwardly as he tries to find something to say. His hesitance almost gets Eugene to say it, almost admit what he knows. _Don’t be a hypocrite. Don’t tell me you don’t._

Shelton still hasn’t said a word, and his silence makes Eugene’s brave enough to ask again, “Why not, Merriell?”

“Gene —”

That’s enough. Eugene’s tired of humouring him. He was only trying to do the right thing, and now Shelton is turning it around on him like he always does. It’s not fair. 

“You said it first.”

Shelton’s face goes paper white. “Huh?” 

His voice comes out unnaturally timid, and Eugene feels instantly cruel. It’s too late to take it back, but he tries to keep his tone gentle, curious. 

“That’s what it means, right?” he asks, setting his bible down on the cot to give his full attention to Shelton. “ _Je t’aime,_ what you — what you said to me.”

“You said you didn’t —”

“I don’t,” Eugene cuts Shelton off before he can feel as if he’s been lied to. “I don’t speak French I’ve just — when we were kids, my dad took my brother and me to see this picture. Clark Gable, uh. He meets this girl from Paris…” It feels surreal to explain this now, to watch the confused, somewhat betrayed look on Shelton’s face as he listens. “I’d heard those words,” Eugene says finally. “Just that one. I only knew — um. I only knew that one.”

It’s quiet for long enough that Eugene’s skin starts to itch. 

“Say something,” he says after it feels as if it’s been an age.

“Why?” Shelton snaps at him. 

He’s facing away now, sucking brutally at the cigarette still smoldering in his hand. The wind howls loud enough outside that Eugene can almost feel it on his skin. Silently, he picks up his bible, flips to the page where he’s kept the tallies for Peking. 

“Because it’s been twelve days,” he says out loud, and Shelton turns to him.

“What now?”

“You loved me twelve days and now I said it back.”

Shelton squints at the marks on the page and laughs. “Twelve days,” he repeats, sounding almost nostalgic. He throws his cigarette to the floor and stands to tamp it out with his boot. He doesn’t say anything else as he walks out of the barracks, slamming the door behind him, and Eugene drops his bible to shove his boots on and go after him.

It’s cold and dark out in the courtyard and the only lights come from the guard’s post between two buildings on the other side of the yard. The cobblestones are slick with brown slurry, making it hard to move in the dark. Shelton hasn’t gotten too far by the time Eugene catches up to him. 

“Get back inside,” Shelton shouts over the wind, already rummaging in his pocket for more cigarettes. 

“How come you get to say it and I don’t?”

Shelton lets out a bitter laugh, but doesn’t answer. Cursing instead when he realizes he’s left his lighter inside. Eugene snatches the cigarette hanging limp out of his mouth and throws it into the muddy slush. 

“Tell me. Dammit, you’d better have a reason.”

Rolling his eyes, Shelton leans down to pick the cigarette up off the ground and dusts it off, as if it matters. He sticks it back in his pocket and answers, “Because you don’t.”

“Like hell I don’t,” Eugene barks back, his anger bellied by the way he shivers from the wind. Shelton notices.

“Go back inside, Gene.”

“You too.”

Shelton rolls his eyes again, sighing heavily, and stalks forward. Eugene follows him, arms crossed over his stomach. They walk in silence until Shelton shuffles out of his jacket and tosses it at Eugene. Too cold to refuse it, Eugene slips it on, but leaves it unfastened in defiance. 

The wind has quieted down enough for Eugene to keep his voice low when he asks, “Why do you say I don’t?”

“Because you _don’t_ , Gene,” Shelton sighs, like he’s an idiot. He sounds suddenly far more tired than he ever had during the war, and Eugene looks at his feet. “I’m just the first one to make you feel good.”

“That’s bullshit,” Eugene argues, but it twists something deep in his chest. Fear that he could be right. The corner of Shelton’s mouth curls into a bitter smirk. It must show on Eugene’s face.

“It don’t matter,” Shelton tells him, an easy shrug to his shoulders. “Ain’t important.”

It stings worse than the argument itself, and Eugene’s humiliated at the way his throat goes tight. He shakes his head and swallows hard. Wind snaps Eugene’s hair over his forehead. “It… You said it.”

With a shrug, Shelton nods. “Yeah.”

He’s shivering now, and his jacket feels as if it weighs a ton on Eugene’s shoulders. 

“It matters for you,” Eugene points out after a pause.

Shelton finally doesn’t have an answer for him. He doesn’t have a cigarette to toy with, so he just sighs and scuffs his boot against the snow. 

Eugene grabs his wrist and tugs on him. “Come back inside.”

Without his jacket and no lighter for his cigarettes, Shelton doesn’t have the fight to say no. He scratches at his neck and nods, following after Eugene only once he starts walking. They’re quiet coming back inside, and Eugene takes off his coat and drapes it over Shelton’s shoulders as soon as he closes the door behind them. He watches as Shelton slips back into it to get warm, chewing on the chapped skin of his lip. He looks frail and soft. He’s quieter than he is generally, and Eugene notices him fidgeting. Picking nervously at dirt under his nails, as if he’s only just noticed it. 

After a moment, Eugene decides.

“You don’t get to tell me I don’t,” he says firmly. 

Shelton rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to say something, so Eugene cuts him off before he can. 

“No. Shut the hell up, you damn asshole. I’m not gonna hear it. I do love you, so tough. To tell you the truth, I don’t like it all that much more than you do.”

That makes Shelton laugh, a quiet snort more of derision than humor. His eyes stay on his hands, still digging at his nails. Eugene prepares to be waved off again, maybe called an idiot or told he’s wrong. Instead, he doesn’t say anything. 

After a few seconds of silence, he sits down onto the cot.

It’s so quiet, and Eugene feels as if there’s a hand squeezing his heart, keeping him from breathing. He’s terrified at how tight his throat feels, his eyes stinging with tears he’s determined to blink back. It’s not fair that he has to be this vulnerable. Not after everything.

“You, uh…” Shelton clears his throat, still not looking up from his fingers. After a breath, he nods. “You wanna say it again?”

It’s like fresh air sweeping into Eugene’s lungs for the first time in years. Warmth spreads through his chest like fire. 

He smirks as Shelton looks up expectantly and answers, “You first.”

The corner of Shelton’s mouth curls up in a smug smile, and he reaches out for Eugene’s cold hand. “ _Je t’aime,_ Gene,” he whispers, tugging at his arm, but Eugene holds still, staring Shelton down.

“In English. Tell me.”

The smile doesn’t leave Shelton’s face. “You’re such a smartass,” he answers teasingly, tugging at Eugene’s arm again. 

Eugene just nods. “Sure am.”

He doesn’t have to ask again. Shelton drags him close, tucking his face into Eugene’s neck, his other hand reaching up to cup his nape. His fingers are still like ice against his skin from being outside. 

“I love you.” 

There’s a heavy swoop in Eugene’s stomach. He’s known, but this is different. Shelton wants him to know, now. His skin tingles as he reaches up to cover Shelton’s hand with his own. His fingers are just as cold, but he rubs gently at Shelton’s knuckles in instinct to warm him back up. He grins at him, pressing his face close to Shelton’s, and kisses his temple. 

“You what now?” he asks.

Snorting, Shelton drags him by his elbows up onto the cot until he’s kneeling over him. “You’re such a fucking smartass.”

Eugene’s pulse is hammering under his skin so hard he feels dizzy. He lets out a breath of a laugh and it explodes from him like a gasp. He can’t tell if he’s shaking or if it’s Shelton. He nods, as if Shelton had asked him anything, and presses his face to Shelton’s breastbone. He can feel the manic cadence of his heartbeat, feel it thumping against his chest, and it’s like relief. Eugene stays flat against him to listen. 

“I love you,” he says again, without thinking, and Shelton sighs. Eugene kisses his chest, the thrumming of his heart under his lips, and says it again. Softer, almost to himself. “I love you.”

Shelton’s hands are warm now, brushing hair from Eugene’s face as he lies there. The wind has fallen quiet outside, and Eugene fills the silence by toying noisily with Shelton’s dogtags. 

“Tell me again.”

“You heard it the first time,” Shelton teases. 

Eugene sits up on his elbows to make eye contact. He narrows his eyes, and his voice is sharp when he snaps, “Merriell.” 

The smile on Shelton’s face drops slightly, turning serious. His fingers nestle into Eugene’s hair and he pulls him close, lips brushing over Eugene’s as he whispers it again, first in French, and again in English before Eugene can protest. He runs his thumbs over Eugene’s cheekbones and tries to pull him closer than they already are. 

He sounds timid and nervous as he whispers, “ _Baises — baises moi. S'il te plaît._”

Mouth dry and tongue heavy, Eugene swallows against a lump in his throat and stares back at him. He’s spent all this time looking at Shelton like he’s wild and furious. In all their differences, Eugene had considered him old breed, numb from the war and cruel for the fun of it.

Watching him now, Eugene tries to see that man again, tries to see someone other than the frightened, fragile boy beneath him, still scared — even months later — to ask for what he wants from someone he knows is willing to give him anything. He tries, but he can’t.

He watches Shelton’s eyes scan him and reaches across the cot to where they keep a tin of rifle oil, next to the lamp. The air is close, and neither of them speak. The oil tin slips several times in Eugene’s trembling hands. It feels oddly like their first time, panicked butterflies swooping in Eugene’s stomach, not knowing what he’s doing, but this time, Shelton doesn’t reach for the tin. He watches silently, wanting Eugene to do it. By the time he manages to slick his fingers, Shelton is fidgeting. He reaches for Eugene the same time Eugene reaches for him, grabbing the back of Eugene’s neck to hold himself still against the sensation of fingers inside him.

His jaw drops and his head tips back, and Eugene fits his free arm across the knobs in Shelton’s spine, hand cradling his skull. He feels small in Eugene’s arms, vulnerable, like one wrong movement and Eugene could break him. His eyes slide closed and Eugene watches his throat work around a whine. The fingers on Eugene’s nape dig in tight and he hisses. 

“Please.”

Eugene pulls him to his chest, changing the angle as he slides in another finger. He listens to the soft little whimper Shelton makes. It’s quiet, forced back behind his teeth. They’re not sure if they woke anyone earlier with slamming doors and shouting, but there’s no use in risking it. As he adds a third finger, Eugene kisses the side of his neck, nuzzling into him. He smells like tobacco, ice and sweat, and Eugene nips his throat. 

Nails bury deep into Eugene’s skin until he does it again, bites down on Shelton’s neck with the barest hint of pressure. Bruises here and there are one thing but bite marks along the throat are far too damning to be safe. Shelton groans, shivering, and Eugene can’t tell if it’s from the cold or the attention. 

He presses his mouth just behind Shelton’s ear and kisses, soft and brief before whispering, “Tell me again, Merriell.”

He changes the angle of his hand as he speaks, and Shelton cries out. His eyes look a little distant as Eugene draws back to watch him. It takes a moment for him to focus on Eugene’s face. 

He doesn’t say anything right away, but the corner of his mouth pulls up into a smirk. “Wanna hear me say it while you fuck me?”

Heat engulfs Eugene from the waist up, humiliation itching at him from the way the idea makes his stomach twist. He doesn’t realize it, but he must nod, because Shelton gets the answer he’s looking for. He shifts against Eugene’s hand. 

“Get to it, then.”

Pulling his hand away, Eugene takes hold of Shelton’s hips and slides into him, clenching his teeth against the instinct to move. He hears Shelton laugh, breathless and tense, and looks up at the sound of Shelton clicking his tongue.

“Don’t gotta be gentle with me, _cher._ I had a bit more practice than you.”

Eugene wills himself not to react to Shelton’s goading. It’s hard to tell if he’s successful or not when Shelton cups his face.

“ _Baises moi,_ Gene.” His voice is low, hitching slightly in an effort to stay quiet as he rolls his fingers under Eugene’s jaw. “Please.”

It’s not the needy, thready whispering Shelton usually purrs against his ear. The air around them feels thick and still until Eugene starts to move. Shelton gasps, but Eugene holds his head steady, keeping him still as he thrusts into him. Shelton’s eyes are dark and wide, his jaw falling open, and he reaches weakly for the hand still slick with oil that Eugene has braced against the cot.

Moving to lace his fingers with Shelton’s causes him to fall forward onto his elbow, chest pressed flat against Shelton and their faces close. He can’t move much this way, but Shelton squeezes his hand, keeping him in place. He wraps a leg across Eugene’s back and whimpers against his mouth. 

It’s hard to breathe. The way Shelton is staring at him feels like hands holding him down. Everywhere they’re touching, Shelton is on fire, hot and clammy and shivering. Eugene pulls him closer. Shelton feels sharp, joints and bones jutting from his skin and scraping over Eugene to hold him like a vice.

Shelton drags Eugene’s head down to press their foreheads together, breathing heavily into his space. “Gene,” he whispers, eyes sliding closed. “Gene…”

He’s not saying it, not yet, and Eugene knows without asking that he’s saving it, teasing. Eugene slips his arm out from under Shelton’s back to stroke his face, pale hands on his tan skin, and is abruptly overwhelmed by how stunning Shelton is. He thinks he might say something, because Shelton shudders in his grip, but doesn’t look up at him.

The angle is too shallow, but when Eugene moves to sit up, Shelton moves with him. Hoisting himself upright, Shelton pulls against Eugene’s lap without letting go of his hand. His breath comes out short and quick, and Eugene lays back, giving Shelton control. It’s irresistible, seeing him like this. Light enough from the lamp to just see more than Shelton’s silhouette, to watch his expression. He seems so small, curled over Eugene this way, shivering helplessly in his lap. 

Eugene wonders if Shelton has thought about going home, about what it will be like. He watches the features relax on Shelton’s face and realizes he has no clue, himself. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen now — between both of them or even just to himself alone. They don’t have forever here in Peking. The thought suddenly springs to mind that he’s not sure what happens next. The fear grips him that he may never see Shelton again, terrifying him more now than the thought of his death had during wartime. He reaches again to cup the back of Shelton’s neck, frantic to touch him and try to alleviate the trepidation, but somehow it only makes it worse. He rips Shelton down by the back of his neck and kisses him, desperation translating to clashing teeth and violence.

Tears roll slick into Eugene’s hair and he’s mortified at the idea of Shelton noticing him crying. He clenches his hand hard at the base of Shelton’s skull, holding him into the kiss so that he can’t pull away.

“Gene —” Shelton gasps against his mouth. He sounds small. Too soft and frail, suddenly, for the way Eugene is holding him.

Guilt causes Eugene to release his grip, and Shelton lets out a breath like relief against his lips. He pulls his hand still laced with Eugene’s into his lap, dropping his hold on Eugene’s fingers to wrap them around his cock. The cant of his voice sounds as if he means to speak French, but what comes out is English, whispered and pleading.

“Touch me.”

Eugene’s stomach falls away from him. He works his hand over Shelton, kissing his panting mouth until he has to push Eugene away flat against the cot to get a breath. Shelton’s eyes are wide and dark, watching him unblinkingly. 

Eugene’s mouth falls open, but Shelton cuts him off before he can say anything. “I love you, Gene.”

His voice is quiet and honest in the silence of the room, and it’s still something to get used to. Weight settles comforting on Eugene’s chest. Warmth sinking over his bones. The panic he’d felt moments ago is forgotten as if it were never there. Every inch of him bleeds over hot and his eyes roll back. He grabs onto Shelton’s shoulder as he comes, and hears Shelton cry out as nails bite too hard into his skin. His other hand is still moving over Shelton’s cock when he blinks back to himself, but Shelton is trembling and spent before Eugene can remember him coming too. 

As he lets his hand fall away, Shelton watches him, expectant. Eugene can’t tell anymore if it’s obvious he’s cried, or even if he’s still crying. 

He swallows, and the proof comes out when his voice cracks against his words. “I love you, too.”

At first, Eugene is prepared to be teased. Silence stretches on while Shelton situates himself on Eugene’s lap, sliding off his cock. He doesn’t say anything right away, and Eugene braces himself for something scathing. Shelton has never been gentle with anyone’s feelings, even if he shares them. When Shelton finally does react, it’s only to lean forward and kiss him. His lips, his forehead, his temples. Eugene can tell his face is still wet with tears, but Shelton doesn’t say anything about it, just shushing Eugene gently when he tries to turn his head away.

It’s coming back, the panic. He’s afraid to even leave their rack, let alone this city, this country. He’s afraid for it to stop. For one wild second, he thinks of Sid, of his brother and his parents and his dream again, of sitting with them in church. He doesn’t remember what that was like, anymore. Whatever Mobile is like now, it’s not the same as it was when he left, and he’s not sure he’s sane enough to face what it is now without Shelton there. 

He’s not sure of the expression on his face, but Shelton curls his fingers tenderly over the side of Eugene’s neck and shushes him, low and gentle. He kisses Eugene’s cheek and stretches out on top of him to get comfortable before mumbling, “Gene.”

Eugene meets his eyes, feeling instantly calmer before he’s even spoken. “You’re okay, Gene. Let’s get some shut-eye, alright?” 

He nods, but doesn’t feel tired. Shelton curls up over him and Eugene toys absently with his hair while he feels him drift to sleep. He stares blankly at the overhead and tries to think about anything other than how unlike home Mobile will feel once he gets there alone.

It’s alarming to remember how certain their idea of death had been just sixty tallies ago. How sure they were that this stupid affair was never going to amount to anything because one or both of them would be dead soon anyway, that it was going to end before they ever got off Okinawa. Running his thumb over Shelton’s knuckles, Eugene tries to recall the excuses they made for stealing time with each other. 

_No Nips, no reason._

There’s no telling when it changed so completely. When they had no excuses anymore, or when it didn’t even seem to matter that they didn’t. It had been so easy, in the dark, to forget there’s even a need for excuses. 

He rolls his thumb over Shelton’s fingers again and whispers into his hair, “Merriell…”

He has nothing to say, and Shelton is sound asleep, but it feels good to say his name. Eugene lets himself pretend, for a moment, that they’re stateside. Not Mobile, not New Orleans, but a new place entirely. Safe from anyone who knows them. Somewhere they aren’t forced to be who they were before the war, where they can have each other and no one would be around to question it.

It shouldn’t be as calming an idea as it is. All Eugene has wanted since Peleliu was to go home, but now the thought terrifies him more than the idea of returning to war. It’s hard to tell anymore if the fear is borne of going back to a family who will hardly recognize him, or of leaving Shelton. After everything he’s been through, he doesn’t want to suffer either.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you noticed the final chapter number change, worry not! It's all the same amount of fic, I ended up just merging this chapter and the one that had been after it because on its own this chapter was a little short and kind of filler-y, and I wanted to make sure the story progresses at least a little with each update, yanno what I mean? Hopefully 20 chapters is still good! :3

The alarm hasn’t even sounded when Eugene wakes the next morning, slowly, a hot coil burning in the pit of his stomach. His body jolts with consciousness and he feels Shelton’s voice in his ear. 

“Shh,” he whispers, and Eugene yelps as he realizes the warm slick fingers around his cock.

Eugene’s whole body feels as if it’s packed full of wet sand, sore and tender, and his skin is drenched with sweat. He whimpers, and Shelton nips quick and light on his throat. It’s a claim, a reminder that Shelton doesn’t share, and Eugene clenches his hands in the wool of Shelton’s coat draped over his shoulders. 

Shelton nuzzles against him when Eugene shivers from the cold morning air. “Easy,” he whispers in his ear, “I’ve got you.”

The coil pulls tighter, Shelton’s eyes on him, and Eugene drops limp against the cot, waiting for Shelton’s word.

He doesn’t give it. His fingers are light and quick over Eugene’s skin, watching his face excitedly as Eugene struggles to keep eye contact. Warm, oily callouses dragged over his cock force his head back, his eyes screwed shut, but each time he blinks away, Shelton coaxes his focus back. 

“Look at me, Eugene,” he whispers, as if afraid they’ll be overheard. “That’s it, just like that.” His other hand cradles Eugene’s face, keeping him steady, running the pad of his thumb over his cheek every time his eyes slide shut.

The way Shelton is staring back at him is so much. Each time Eugene opens his eyes he has to resist the instinct to shut them again, too shy to look him in the face, even groping each other like this. Eugene doesn’t feel deserving of the way Shelton watches him, as if drinking him in, afraid to blink in case he vanishes by the time he can see again. The sensation of Shelton’s eyes on him used to be unsettling and discomforting. Now, it feels as if his heart is going to burst with affection in his chest. He’s hot all over, his every nerve on fire, but Shelton is still staring him down, waiting for something. He tilts his head, curious, and his fingers skate over the underside of Eugene’s cock, knuckles brushing over the inside of his thighs. Eugene’s not sure how much more he can stand.

“Merriell,” he whispers, voice no louder than Shelton’s had been. “Please.”

Air bursts out of Shelton as if he’s been hit. His eyes flash in the dim light, and he nods. Just once. Silent.

Eugene falls apart, his mouth dropping open without a sound as his whole body surges with release. Shelton’s forehead presses to his own and Eugene can feel him breathing, quiet and slow, easing Eugene back down.

They’re still lying together when the alarm sounds for roll call. Eugene’s eyes snap open, but Shelton doesn’t move, still pressed close against him and murmuring in his ear. 

“Shh, easy.” He kisses Eugene’s cheek when he doesn’t relax. “Just another minute.”

It’s a while before Eugene braves trying to move again, drinking in the way Shelton holds him to his body. He drapes his hand over the back of Shelton’s neck and prods gently, “Is every morning gonna be like that from now on?”

Snorting, Shelton answers, “You can think it all you want, but I ain’t your wife, Gene.”

Eugene laughs, but has to bite his tongue to halt the response, _“Not yet.”_

It’s startling to think, but as he watches Shelton hoist himself up on his elbows, he notices. Shelton’s body is slack and lazy, and he’s grinning. Not the conceited little smirk he has but a wide, honest smile. It’s different. Shelton’s happy, and he loves Eugene.

He loves Eugene, and Eugene loves him.

As Shelton gets to his feet and shuffles into his clothes, Eugene wonders, for the first time really, what that means. He considers it as he watches Shelton stomp into his boots and find his pack of cigarettes. It’d be easy to miss, how different he is. The fluid ease in his movements that weren’t quite as soft before. The soothed muscles in his face that just days ago had been pulled tense. He’s not sure anyone else will see it. He doesn’t think Shelton even realizes himself. Before this, every move he’d made had been stiff, calculated. He reacted as if every interaction with another human being was torture or a game. 

Now, it isn’t that he’s friendly, or calm, it’s nothing that obvious. But he’s relaxed, and quieter. Now when Burgie cracks a joke about their breakfast, Shelton laughs, honestly, a quiet huff under his breath. Not a real change, barely noticeable on the outside, but Eugene is watching, and Eugene can see.

Days pass by faster, sun gliding over a perpetually dim and foggy winter sky, and Eugene takes note of that comfort that settles into Shelton’s bones. He sleeps deeper against Eugene’s chest, and isn’t as quick to provoke or fight anyone when they’re close together. When they’re alone, Eugene runs his fingers over the back of Shelton’s neck and watches him melt into the touch. They couldn’t do this, before. Not the same way. Natural. Easy. But now they know, and now it’s as if they can do anything.

It’s nightfall in the barracks, and most of the men have gone to bed. Eugene and Shelton are curled in a pile next to their cot, their coats and coarse wool blankets draped over them for extra heat as Shelton leans against the wall with a cigarette and Eugene reads, using Shelton’s lap to prop his head up against. He hasn’t been focusing on the words for some time, curious of something he hasn’t really thought of until now.

Without rehearsing the question in his head, Eugene mumbles, “Can I ask you something?”

“Somethin’ else?” Shelton teases, tapping ash from his cigarette. 

Eugene ignores him. “How many others were there?”

It’s not the best way to ask. Shelton narrows his eyes. “Other what?”

He doesn’t mean for the subject to seem awkward. He gives an easy shrug and tries to specify without blushing. “Other fellas. I mean, you said yourself you’ve had more practice than me. Just was curious who with.”

Shelton cringes. “Gene…”

He sounds, Eugene realizes with a lurch of his stomach, as if he’s ashamed to bring it up. Guilty. It’s not at all what Eugene wants, and he sits up from Shelton’s lap, shaking his head. 

“No, I didn’t mean it like that,” he says firmly. “I’m just curious, is all.”

That causes Shelton to raise an eyebrow. “Curious?”

“Guess so. I just wanna know,” Eugene explains. “I don’t have any stories or nothin’.” For a moment, he contemplates admitting Shelton being his first kiss, but decides against it. No need to give him more ammunition on Eugene’s lack of experience. Instead he just adds, “Figured you might.”

Smirking, he blows a line of smoke from his mouth before answering, “I suppose.”

Eugene doesn’t say anything, waiting for Shelton to elaborate until he does. 

“I grew up ‘round the Navy base and the port. Not too hard to find willing folk down there. Sometimes for pay, sometimes for fun.” After a moment’s hesitation he pops his cigarette back in his mouth and adds with a smug look and a shrug, “Well. Always for fun.”

It’s not exactly what Eugene expects to hear, and he’s not sure why until the words are already halfway out of his mouth. “Nobody special?”

Another shrug. “Nah. Repeat customer for a few. Didn’t really trade names down at the docks, Gene.”

There’s a swoop in Eugene’s stomach, like missing a step on a staircase. _“Ain’t nobody here stupid enough to share a foxhole with me but you, Gene.”_ It means something else entirely, now. Not just that Shelton had no interest in the other Marines, but that he’d never had an interest in anyone, before. Not specifically.

Mouth dry, he finds it in him to ask, “Any girls?”

Shelton shrugs again, a disinterested look on his face. He doesn’t pull the cigarette out of his mouth before exhaling the smoke around it. “A few.”

Eugene’s is light and dizzy all at once. His skin tingles and there’s the prickling sensation of a cold sweat at the back of his neck. He’s not sure of the look on his face, but he’s not surprised when Shelton misreads it. 

“I knew you wouldn’t wanna hear that shit.” He sounds genuinely remorseful as he throws his cigarette on the tile. “Why you always gotta be so damn —”

Whatever Eugene always so damn is, he doesn’t find out, crashing into Shelton with a kiss, sending them both to the floor. Shelton is breathless by the time Eugene pulls back, gaping at him as Eugene grinds his hips forward into Shelton’s. 

“Fuck me,” he pleads, voice desperate against Shelton’s mouth. “Please. I liked it. I want you to.”

Shelton swallows, tongue sweeping out to lick over his lips. Silence stretches for a minute as he processes what’s happening before he manages to speak. “What?”

His shock only makes Eugene braver, sharp heat streaking down his spine, making the heat in his face easy to ignore. 

“Fuck me,” he repeats, hips still rolling into Shelton’s until he feels him squirm underneath him. “Like they fucked you.”

“ _Shit,_ ” Shelton gasps, a shiver wracking him down to his bones as Eugene tugs at their layers, first his own, before he attacks Shelton’s.

All this time, he thought there had been others like him, that Shelton’s spun this whole game with someone else before him. To realize he hasn’t makes Eugene heady and drunk, fumbling with Shelton’s buttons as he strips him down. Repeat customers without names. Girls he barely seems to count. But Eugene is different. He’s different from all of them. Shelton loves him. 

“I liked it, Merriell,” Eugene whines, “Please.” He grinds hard into Shelton’s lap and watches his eyes cloud over.

Something flickers on Shelton’s face. “Like how the Navy boys fucked me?” Eugene nods, keening, and Shelton takes a deep breath before smiling, shaky and wound. “Tall order.”

He shoves Eugene hard, knocking him back onto the floor. As Eugene tries to regroup himself, Shelton grabs at him, slipping an arm under his hips and flipping him onto his knees. Air bursts out of Eugene’s lungs in a loud rush, and Shelton drapes over his back to whisper in his ear. 

“Sure about that?”

Fire drags through Eugene’s blood as he nods. Shelton lets out a shuddering breath against his nape and kisses just behind his ear. He stretches over to snatch the oil from next to the lamp. 

When he crouches down over Eugene’s back again, he murmurs, “Say it.”

“Fuck me,” Eugene begs without hesitation, his stomach twisting with tense energy as he does. “Like this. Please.” 

His whole body feels as if it’s vibrating, and he can practically feel Shelton’s heartbeat crashing against his own spine. One hand crawls along the side of Eugene’s throat to hold him up against Shelton’s chest as the other, slick and cool, prods quick inside him. Eugene wills himself to relax, but he can hear Shelton tisking as he tries to slide a second finger into him. It’s difficult, this way, to force himself to breathe against the pressure and the rush. By the time Shelton works in his third finger, the hand at Eugene neck grips tight and pushes down, until Eugene’s arms collapse and his chest is flat against the tile floor. He gasps out loud, and he hears Shelton swear above him.

Fingers trace up the line of his back before nesting in his hair. “Should’ve done you this way first,” he says after a moment, the hold in Eugene’s hair tightening. 

It makes Eugene’s heart pound. Without really meaning to, he nods. 

Shelton chuckles quietly to himself, dragging his hand away as he does. Eugene shudders against the grip still pressing him to the cold floor. 

“Still sure?”

Eugene glances back over his shoulder, taking in the way Shelton is looking at him. There’s an anxiety in his face that he doesn’t give voice to. He doesn’t want to hurt him. Eugene nods firmly before gritting out, “Still sure.”

It’s slower than the last time, or maybe it’s just easier to focus on Shelton this way. Maybe Eugene’s paying closer attention. The angle is different, smoother, and makes Eugene feel loose, blurred around the edges. Shelton moves with an oddly practiced caution, as if he’s afraid Eugene will break. He’s breathing hard against Eugene’s neck, whispering under his breath as he slides in to the hilt. It feels more intense this way, unable to hold onto Shelton’s body as he usually does, to curl into his neck or grip his shoulders. It’s colder, hard cement and chilly air hitting his skin. The only touch he has is Shelton’s cock. When his slick hand drops next to Eugene’s head to hold himself up, Eugene grabs for it, needy. 

Shelton laces their fingers and squeezes before whispering, “Alright?”

Eugene’s not sure when he’d looked away from Shelton, but he turns his head back to look again. He’s shaking, his eyes dark, and Eugene feels an incredible wave of affection swell in his chest. The hand in his hair clenches, and Eugene groans. His head is swimming and he feels dazed. 

He nods, and Shelton nods back, eyes bright as he leans in close. He brushes his nose along the side of Eugene’s face, gentle and soft before pressing his mouth to his ear. 

“ _Je t’aime,_ ” he murmurs, voice trembling as he starts to move. When Eugene whimpers, he adds, breathless and careful, “ _Juste toi. Je veux juste toi._ ”

He doesn’t understand, but he can guess what they mean. He nods, unable to form his own words, and Shelton moves again, pressing into him so close that now their bodies are touching everywhere it can, from hips to the top of Eugene’s spine. His chest aches, skin scraping raw against the floor. It excites him, the way the palms of his hands and knees have gone numb against hard, freezing cement. Shelton is so much stronger than he seems, able to hold Eugene still so easily, and it’s almost relaxing to be held this way. Shelton always has control, because that’s the way they both want it to be, but it feels different when he holds Eugene down like this, when he doesn’t let him move. Like making a point of showing it. Having no control at all — giving everything to Shelton — it feels almost peaceful.

Shelton releases his hold on Eugene’s hair and slides long fingers over his cock. When Eugene cries out, bucking up against Shelton’s chest, he bites quick and light at the top of Eugene’s spine. “ _Sois patient, mon cher._ ”

It’s too much, all at once. The flow of his words, the pull of his hand, the slide of his cock. It’s as if Eugene is underwater, dizzy and entranced as Shelton whispers to him again and again. Teeth sink briefly into his skin, Shelton getting a hold of himself as he starts to get close. He hisses Eugene’s name, and Eugene nods. Whatever he wants, Eugene will give it to him. It doesn’t matter what.

The hand holding Eugene’s is clenched tight into his skin, knuckles white as his movement starts to lose its pace and rhythm. Tears sting at Eugene’s eyes as he grinds his teeth against the need to beg. He doesn’t even want to come, doesn’t want this to stop. He just wants this. Wants Shelton, wants this dirty tile floor of their barracks in Peking. He realizes, belatedly, that he’s speaking, rushed and quiet. He can’t tell his thoughts from his words, and he’s not sure Shelton can even understand him. 

The hand over his cock moves faster, Shelton’s hips driving into him harder, volatile. “Eyes on me.” 

Eugene can’t hold his head up, can barely keep his eyes open. He turns his face to rest against the cradle of his arm to watch Shelton through half-lidded eyes, because that’s what Shelton wants. His head is spinning and he can’t breathe. Any part of him that isn’t burning has gone numb. Shelton is looking at him as if the rest of the world no longer exists, and for a moment, Eugene forgets that it does.

It’s rough and harsh when Shelton comes, a grunt bursting out of him as he folds on top of Eugene. The air vanishes out of Eugene’s lungs. It’s hot and slick and too much, and the request finally falls desperate from Eugene’s mouth, “Please let me. _Please._ ”

Shelton’s breath is erratic and loud in his ear, movements turning slow and clumsy. He’s still shivering with his own orgasm when he hisses, “Come for me, _cher._ ”

It’s like boiling heat and ice water all at once, losing himself to sensations he can’t separate from one another. He can barely differentiate the faint, distant sound of Shelton purring something in his ear. It sends a chill down his spine as he feels hands on him, holding him down. He reaches blindly toward the sound of Shelton’s voice as he loses track of his limbs. He can’t breathe, heart straining in his throat. Every inch of him is electric. There’s words on his tongue, but he can’t tell what they are, only hears Shelton’s voice, gentle but commanding as he falls over the edge. 

“Shh, that’s it.” 

The hand wrapped around his squeezes tightly at his fingers, and Eugene sighs. He’s lightheaded and warm, and lets his eyes drift shut to listen to Shelton’s breathing slow against his neck. He drops Shelton’s hand as he comes back to himself, and glances over his shoulder to see Shelton draped along his back, forehead pressed to Eugene’s temple. Shelton moves his hand to absently pet his fingers along the side of Eugene’s face and shushes him tenderly, repeating his name over and over in his ear. 

“You’re okay,” he says, lips light on his skin. “You’re okay.”

They lay together in silence for a while before Shelton shifts and rolls Eugene gently onto his back. Eugene lets out a startled breath almost like a laugh, and Shelton smiles back at him, cupping the nape of his neck. 

“Turned you into quite the harlot, Gene,” he says proudly, “You gonna get this way every time? I ain’t big-headed enough for you yet?”

“Guess not,” Eugene says with a roll of his eyes, and Shelton laughs.

When he bows to kiss Eugene’s throat, a thought goes through Eugene’s head that hadn’t had the time to surface before. 

“I can’t believe you let Navy boys fuck you, Shelton,” he says with a grin. “Some Marine you are.”

A startled laugh bursts out of Shelton’s mouth and he cuffs the side of his head. “Fuck you, Sledgehammer,” he grumbles without any bite to his words.

He’s grinning, and Eugene feels the tug on his ribs. He’s not Shelton’s first the way Shelton is his. Not his first kiss, not his first man, not even his first military lay. That never mattered to Eugene before, not until now. Not until knowing he’s the first one Shelton has ever looked at this way, the first one he’s ever nuzzled up against to fall asleep. Eugene is the first one, out of all of them, that he’s ever told he loves. 

It’s hard to tell if Shelton knows what it is that effected Eugene so much, or if he’s curious. He doesn’t ask, but knowing Shelton that could mean anything. They crawl onto the cot with the blankets and coats and curl into each other, Shelton’s arms wrapped around him as they fall asleep.

The next morning, the mail truck has a letter from Sid. Shelton is always nosy about any mail Eugene gets, especially after the news of Deacon’s passing in the thick of Okinawa, so when his name is read out at mail call, Shelton looks over at him pointedly.

“Who’s it from?” he asks on their walk to mess.

“Sid,” Eugene answers, holding it out to look at it for a moment before stuffing it in his coat pocket.

“Ooh,” Shelton says with an air of mock interest. “Something from the ol’ sweetheart back home. He miss you somethin’ fierce, huh?”

Blushing, Eugene doesn’t look at him. When he slows to a stop to fall a few steps away from the group, Shelton follows suit.

“I told you Sid ain’t like that,” Eugene snaps under his breath, “Don’t — don’t talk about him like that. I mean it. It ain’t funny.”

He doesn’t expect an apology, and doesn’t get one. Shelton raises his eyebrows and shrugs his shoulders, pulling out a cigarette and his beaten lighter.

“Suit yourself,” he says flippantly, walking ahead to join the other men.

Stupidly, Eugene figures that will be the end of it, but of course it isn’t. The sun is setting by the time Eugene remembers to pull out the letter to read it in the privacy of their bunk, but the moment he rips the envelope open, Shelton presses against him to inspect.

“You gonna share with the class?”

Eugene snorts. “No.”

The letter is snatched out of his hand so fast it takes him a moment to realize he’s no longer holding it.

“Why not?” Shelton asks, inspecting the envelope. “What’s it got in it that I don’t know, anyhow?”

He doesn’t put up a fight when Eugene grabs it back from him, but he glares when Eugene holds it to his chest, as if hiding what it has to say. Eugene opens his mouth to ask what the hell Shelton’s problem is when it occurs to him.

“Are you —” The thought is almost sweet, and Eugene can’t help the smirk stretching over his face. “Are you jealous?”

Shelton clicks his tongue as if the mere idea is absurd, but he doesn’t meet Eugene’s eyes when he grumbles, “No.”

“You _are!_ ” Eugene laughs, genuine, because it’s hilarious. Shelton glares at him. “No idea why you would be, I told you we ain’t ever —”

Huffing, Shelton pushes off Eugene’s side as he strips off his coat. The back of his neck is blushed red, and he doesn’t look at Eugene. Eugene tries to be sympathetic, but he’s grateful Shelton’s embarrassment for when he has to chew his lip to keep from grinning. He gets to his feet to tug Shelton’s arm. 

“Oh, Snaf, come on.”

“Come on _what?_ I ain’t —”

Eugene cuts him off with a kiss, waiting until he feels Shelton relax into it before breaking away. He can’t help but smile, and Shelton rolls his eyes and shoves him. 

“...jealous,” he finishes bitterly.

“Mm,” Eugene responds with a solemn nod. “Not a bit. I’ll just go read my letter in that corner by myself, then.” 

He turns on his heel to sit in the far corner of the room, but the moment he does, Shelton is back against his side, laying his head in Eugene’s lap. He doesn’t say anything, but Eugene feels him relax when he drags a hand through Shelton’s hair.

Eugene chuckles knowingly, but doesn’t press the issue any further.

It’s not even a week later that Eugene double-checks the count of tallies in his bible against the calendar in the barracks and says, more to himself than to actually declare it to anyone smoking with him in the stairwell, “It’s my birthday.”

“Happy birthday,” Pete tells him in a deadpan voice, not looking up from the cat in his lap.

Burgie gives him a grin and taps ash from his cigarette. “How old?”

“Twenty-two,” Eugene answers, glancing at Shelton leaning his head against Eugene’s thigh.

Shelton’s eyes are on his busted-up lighter, flicking it opened and closed and back again without a word. Finally, he grumbles without looking up, “Should earn us a liberty pass out drinkin’.”

“Oh, I don’t —” Eugene starts, but the promise of liberty causes Pete to look up from his cat with a grin on his face.

“Yeah!” he shouts, as if it were his idea, “How many times you gonna turn twenty-two, Sledgehammer?”

Eugene doesn’t have a response, looking back to Shelton as he sits up and pockets his lighter. Shelton smirks and says, “Dunno what you’re smilin’ for, Fouts. Drinks are on you.”

“Why me?” Pete asks, abruptly grumpy, “You’re his — his gunner.”

The hesitation doesn’t go unnoticed. Eugene’s chest seizes tight and Shelton’s face falls. His eyes narrow, and for an instant Eugene’s worried he’s about to start a fight before Burgie cuts in. 

“I’ll get the first round, fellas. Seems only fair.”

As it turns out, first round is on the house. The Chinaman behind the bar doesn’t speak much English, but he understands “Marine” and “birthday,” and shouts excitedly before pouring them all shots of some clear liquor that smells of shoe polish and goes down like swallowing a firecracker. Awful as it is, it does the trick enough. Loose and calm, Burgie buys the next round. Eugene is pretty sure the third round is only on Pete out of guilt, or by then he’s just drunk enough to have forgotten why he wouldn’t.

They’re laughing and talkative, going on loudly about how fantastic Peking has been to them. Shelton hovers, as he always does, but Burgie is never too far, loudly steering them in the conversation whenever the two of them are quiet or mooning at each other for too long. Eugene decides he’s not wrong to do so after the third time he has to stop himself from pulling Shelton into a kiss. It isn’t exactly wise to get this drunk together in public.

As the night goes on, the rounds switch to beers, and Eugene has lost track of who’s buying. The bar has gone quiet, and the talk shifts to home. Pete talks about his mother, and the girl he started going with before the war picked up. 

“She’s probably gone with some 4F neighborhood brat by now,” he says without any real anger, “But if not, it just means she’s been carrying a torch for me the whole time.”

“Mm,” Burgie says over the lip of his beer, “Them’s the only possible options.”

Pete laughs and shoves him, beer sloshing over the table. “Act real smooth, how’s _your_ girl, anyway. The Aussie one. What’s her name? Frances?”

“Florence,” Burgie corrects, blushing slightly. “Yeah, I’ve written her some.”

Shelton grins. “Ain’t you wanting her to be at the train station when you get home?”

Bright red, Burgie answers, “Haven’t written her that one yet.”

“Hot dog, Burgie’s gettin’ hitched,” Pete shouts drunkenly, jumping to his feet. “Calls for another round I think!”

“Oh, pipe down,” Burgie grumbles, laughing as he grabs hold of his collar and pulls him back into his chair, “You haven’t even finished this one.” 

They all laugh, but Eugene feels a sudden dread in his stomach. They’re all looking forward to heading home, thinking of their families they left behind and the new ones they want to start once this is all behind them. Eugene gulps his beer to keep from sharing any stories. Or admitting that he has none. He’s terrified of going back to Mobile. All he can think is of his family not recognizing him, of them missing someone he can no longer be. He has no one back home he wants to start a family with. All going home will do now is take him away from Shelton.

“Sledgehammer,” Pete’s voice cuts through his thoughts, “You all right, there?”

He hasn’t moved. He’s not sure how long it’s been, but long enough for the three of them to notice. Shelton is looking him up and down, assessing if it’s panic or not. 

Under his breath, Eugene hears him ask, “Need to scram?”

Shaking his head just enough for Shelton to notice, Eugene sets his empty glass down. “What was that you said about another round, Pete?”

It works as a distraction. Pete lets out an exuberant drunken whoop and Shelton and Burgie laugh, but Eugene can’t push the thought out of head. None of it feels safe or desirable anymore, not Mobile or a family or his parents or Sid. Not anymore. Not the way he feels safe with Shelton. He watches Shelton out of the corner of his eye and wonders if he thinks the same way, if he’s just better at hiding it. Despite everything, he can’t help but think it’s probably not the same for him. Pete’s run off to buy them all new beers, and Shelton gives Eugene’s shoulder a little shake.

“Alright?” he asks, close enough that Eugene can smell the alcohol on his breath. 

Eugene nods, but doesn’t look up from his glass. Fingers brush the back of his neck, gentle and calming, but Burgie clears his throat loud enough that they fall away, and Eugene flinches.

“I’m fine,” he says after a moment.

His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. He wants to ask Shelton how he feels about going home. Shelton hadn’t had any stories, either. He’d noticed. Eugene wants to ask, for a wild second, if maybe things don’t have to change once they travel stateside. Before he can think through any of it, Pete comes back with four glasses of beer and slams them all on the table. 

“Birthday and a wedding announcement all in the same night,” He slurs happily, “Chinaman up there refused to take my money.”

“Pete!” Burgie scolds, his face turning pink again, “You can’t just tell people —”

“Shut up and drink your beer, Sergeant.” 

Eugene takes this beer slower, and tries not to look at Shelton any more than he already has. His skin is hot and clammy as he keeps the beer glass close to his face. 

At the end of the night, when Eugene gets to his feet, the alcohol seems to hit him all at once. He sits back almost immediately, and the others all laugh. He doesn’t have it in him to feel embarrassed, and smiles along with them as they cackle. 

“How many times do I turn twenty-two, right?” he says with a chuckle. Pete snorts and claps his hand hard on Eugene’s shoulder. 

“Attaboy,” he hollers cheerfully.

The laughter dies down and when Eugene blinks, Shelton is kneeling in front of him. He’s grinning, making Eugene feel warm and sated. He can’t help reaching for him, but Shelton pulls back before Eugene can touch him. “Alright, _cher._ Gonna need you to hang on tight.”

Squinting, Eugene asks, “What?”

“Burgie and Fouts went on ahead.” His hand swings out to point in the direction their figures are ambling. “Gotta promise no neckin’ on me while I carry you.”

Eugene feels his stomach flip and nods, grappling for Shelton as he turns his back toward him. Shelton hoists him by his thighs, and Eugene flings his arms around Shelton’s neck and buries his face into the crook of his shoulder. He feels Shelton’s pulse pick up in his throat, and grins. 

“And I ain’t even neckin’ on you,” he whispers into his skin with a smirk.

“Watch your mouth,” Shelton answers back, voice lighter than Eugene thinks he means it to be. “Your smartass is gonna land us in trouble.”

Carefully, Eugene hoists himself up straighter so he can mumble in his ear. “You like trouble.”

Shelton scoffs, but Eugene feels him shiver, just barely.

When they’re back in the barracks, drunk and sleepy, Eugene’s mind wanders back to the conversation around the table. He curls up on their cot pressed against Shelton as he takes off his boots and the words fall out of his mouth uninhibited. 

“We should stay.” 

He’s not entirely sure what he expects once he’s said it, but Shelton doesn’t respond. Tossing his boots next to the door he grumbles finally, “You’re lit.”

It stings, but there’s no denying it. Instead, Eugene shifts in what would be a shrug if he were sitting upright. 

“No one’d have to know, here. We can just...” He knows more words for this, but none of them are coming to mind. “Stay.”

When there’s no response this time, he keeps going. “I don’t have anything back home. Girls or plans or anything. I don’t — I don’t want…” 

There’s a sound like Shelton taking a deep breath, and Eugene’s throat has gone raw in an instant. He can’t cry over this. He can’t let this matter as much as it does. 

He swallows, thick and solid. “I don’t want to go home.”

“Think the Marine Corps’d have somethin’ to say about us disappearin’, Gene.”

He sounds tense, and Eugene shakes his head. “Doesn’t have to be here. Somewhere else, then. Stateside.” His throat closes around a plea. Instead he manages, “Anywhere.” He sits up a little, but Shelton doesn’t move. “I just — I don’t wanna go home.”

“You said.”

“They all wanna go home,” he babbles. He hears the tears in his own voice now, but he doesn’t bother trying to stop it. “And I — they all have something. Girls and families.”

“You got family.”

Eugene shakes his head, just sober enough to bite back his response. He doesn’t want his family. Not anymore, even if it is an evil thought to think. He wants Shelton. He’s quiet for long enough that Shelton turns his head, narrowing his eyes.

“You got people to go home to. Waitin’ for you.”

Shame curls in the pit of Eugene’s stomach as he shakes his head again. “It won’t — it won’t be the same.”

Shelton lets out a quiet little laugh. “Think _we_ would be?”

Swallowing, Eugene turns his eyes to the floor. “I dunno. You love me.”

“Gene.” Shelton flinches away, pointedly staring at the wall now that he doesn’t have his shoes to distract him. They’re both silent for a beat, and Shelton’s jaw locks into a frown. “Get some sleep, alright?”

He makes no move to lie down himself, and Eugene curls tighter around his hip. He’s asleep before he can feel Shelton’s hand run through his hair.

The sun rises like a knife splitting his skull in half through their dusty window. It’s painful to move and impossible to open his eyes. It takes several minutes for Eugene to realize he’s waking up alone. 

He snaps up when he notices Shelton isn’t in their cot with him, momentarily thrown by how nauseated the movement makes him. For a moment he thinks Shelton woke without him and left him to sleep in the barracks, but his breath catches dead in his lungs when he sees Shelton still curled up asleep in the rack beside his, back to Eugene. 

They haven’t slept in separate cots since Okinawa. 

Every inch of him is aching. Eugene’s memory of the night before is fuzzy and vague, but he recalls most of what he said. Terrified, his heart sinks.

“Shelton?”

Shoulders go tense under the thick wool blanket, but Shelton doesn’t say anything. Eugene can reach him from where he’s lying, but he’s afraid to. Burgie won’t come in to wake them anytime soon. It’s still early, and he’ll probably take sympathy on Eugene’s birthday hangover. Even this dim the light’s too much and Eugene shuts his eyes and falls back against his rack.

The sound causes Shelton to move. He doesn’t see, but he can hear the shuffling of him turning around in his cot. 

“How you feelin’, Sledgehammer?”

His voice is quiet, timid, but Eugene is grateful for it. At least he’s speaking to him.

“Like hell,” he answers. It’d be best if he could pretend not to remember any of their conversation, but he can’t bring himself to ask why Shelton’s sleeping in the spare cot as if he doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to hear Shelton lie to him.

Shelton can tell, anyway. The silence is heavy, and Eugene keeps his jaw clenched for fear of vomiting. 

“Roll call’s gonna go off soon,” Shelton says after a moment. Eugene presses his hands into his eyes. He doesn’t really understand why he’s bothered to tell him until he adds, “Might wanna put your pillow over your ears.”

Spitefully, Eugene doesn’t, and regrets it the instant the horns start to blow from the courtyard. Howling in pain from the throbbing in his head, Eugene presses his hands to his ears and screws his eyes shut. He waits until ringing silence takes over before dropping his arms. 

After a while, Shelton asks, not quite enough humor in his voice, “Alright?”

“No.”

“Should get you to the mess.”

Addled and sick, Eugene remembers when their roles were switched back in Okinawa, the first time they’d crossed a line like this. Eugene had teased him, light-hearted and amused while Shelton pretended to be angry with him. He wishes Shelton would tease him now. Without it, he just feels close to tears.

He’s twenty-two years old. He’s twenty-two years old and he’s killed more people than he can count. He’s twenty-two years old and he’s seen more friends die than his father ever has. He’s twenty-two years old, he hasn’t been home in three years, and he never wants to go back. He can’t go back home, to his mother and his father who haven’t seen him since he left home at nineteen. Before he’d understood, before he’d murdered, before Shelton.

Three years feels like a lie. It feels like it’s been twenty, thirty. He feels ancient in his body, too old to be twenty-two. Too old to go home. Too old to ever see his family again. 

“Gene? You fall back asleep?”

“No.”

Silence. Shelton clears his throat. “Let’s get some battery acid in you.”

Eugene grunts. The idea of anything in his stomach is revolting, most of all the coffee they serve at mess. He jolts when he feels a hand on his forehead, flinching at the way his stomach lurches underneath him. The hand is gone as quickly as it came, and Eugene opens his eyes. Shelton is staring down at him, chewing at his lip. 

“C’mon, Sledgehammer,” he says under his breath, “Can’t sleep a hangover away.”

There’s something panicked in Shelton’s eyes, and Eugene wants to ask him why. He sits up, arms shaking, and Shelton takes a step back to give him space. At least Eugene hopes that’s why he takes a step back. He’s still foggy and tired, and the question almost falls out of his mouth. Shelton doesn’t help him up, doesn’t touch him at all, and Eugene wonders if he’s finally ruined it.

The idea of going home without Shelton is terrifying enough. Knowing Shelton wants to be rid of him feels like molten lead in his lungs. He sits up and sick crawls up his throat. Before he can even register the feeling, he leans over and pukes onto the tile beside his cot. Shelton jumps back further, shouting something, and Eugene feels himself starting to shake.

The sunlight from the window is like nails in his skull. He’s a twenty-two-year-old invert who’s killed more Japs than he knows people. He hasn’t been home in three years and the room is spinning. This is his life now. If he goes home alone, all he’ll have is this panic. Shelton is still yelling, and he tries to focus on his words.

“— make you clean that up himself if he fuckin’ sees. Christ, Sledgehammer, some Goddamn Marine you turned out to fuckin’ be, can’t even hold —”

Eugene’s not sure when he starts crying. He only becomes aware of it after Shelton does, his words halting abruptly before he lets out a sigh. 

“Gene…”

Eugene can’t think of anything to say back to him, and Shelton wordlessly pulls his poncho out from his seabag to cover the mess. He clears his throat again, louder when Eugene can’t stop crying. He sits down on the floor, a bit away from his slicker spread out over the tile, and waits in silence until Burgie comes to knock on their door.

“We’re comin’,” Shelton calls out flatly before Burgie can even speak, but he’s still not looking at Eugene, and Eugene can’t catch his breath. 

He’s not even sure what to say. Shelton won’t look at him, won’t touch him, won’t talk to him. He can’t go home like this, can’t go back as if nothing has happened, as if his family and friends still know him better than the men in his squad do.

“Why?” he asks finally.

There’s no way to tell if Shelton understands what he’s asking. All he does is shrug. “Doesn’t matter now. Let’s get you to mess.”

He’s a foot away even as he says it, and Eugene’s head is spinning. Just last night Shelton had carried him home on his back, and now he can’t stand to touch him while he’s sick and crying. None of this is right. It shouldn’t be like this. 

“Fuck you.”

Surprisingly, Shelton doesn’t have a response to that. He shrugs. “Fair.” Eugene thinks that’ll be the end of it, but instead he adds, “I — you need food in you, alright?”

“Anything that goes in me’s gonna come right back out,” Eugene snaps, lying back onto his cot. “No point.”

If Shelton wants him out of the barracks he’s going to have to drag him. Shelton lets out a loud, exasperated sigh. “C’mon, Sledgehammer. Burgie’ll be back to get us himself in a minute.”

“Fine.”

He hears Shelton suck contemplatively at his teeth before he pushes off from the floor. “I’ll bring you back some chow,” he says over his shoulder, and the door slams shut hard enough that Eugene can feel it vibrate through his skull. 

He’s fallen back asleep by the time Shelton returns, waking him up again with the slam of the door. It doesn’t hurt as much to hear this time. Shelton’s holding a tin of beans, and sets it next to Eugene’s head. It feels almost like an apology, from Shelton standards, until he sits down on the floor. Eugene turns his head to watch him take out his KABAR from under his cot and pick his nails.

“Why — why did...” he can’t ask. The words stick at the back of his throat. _Why did you leave me alone? Why didn’t you sleep with me? Why did you get scared?_ Finally, he decides, “What’s wrong?”

Shelton doesn’t look up from digging at his hands. “Here to make sure they don’t gotta take you down for desertion,” he says without a beat. He scowls at his hands, and acts as if it’s over a particularly stubborn hangnail. 

When Eugene doesn’t answer him, he glances up before going back to picking with his KABAR.

“You’re a Goddamn idiot, Gene.”

“I just —”

“You know if you run off you ain’t never goin’ home. They don’t let you back stateside after that.” Eugene shakes his head, he hadn’t meant it like that, but Shelton puts down his KABAR to point an accusatory finger at Eugene. “You got more reason to go home than any of them.”

“Why’s that?”

Livid, Shelton snatches his KABAR back up. “‘Cause I said so. Don’t fuckin’ talk like you got anythin’ here worth givin’ up all you got back home for. What you think Ack-Ack and Hillbilly would say hearin’ you go on like that? Think they’d say my ass is worth it? Wonder how Hamm-with-two-Ms would feel ‘bout —”

“Stop it,” Eugene hisses, sitting up to make his glare more effective. “You can’t — you can’t do that anymore. Act like this is nothing. This — I just want — I _want_ —” He can’t think of how to phrase it, and takes too long. 

Shelton cuts him off. “I can guess.”

It’s cold, and it stings. “What’s wrong with you?”

Shelton’s eyebrows raise at that. “Wrong with me? You the one plannin’ desertion, runnin’ away from your family like they ain’t gonna miss you. Got this idea in your head like survivin’ the war was plan B.”

“Fuck you,” Eugene snaps again, the memory of Shelton whispering French to him under a tree in Okinawa suddenly vivid in his mind. “Surviving this Goddamn war was everybody’s plan B.”

Shelton has nothing to say to that.

Eugene snatches the tin of beans off his pillow and digs it open without attempting to eat them. Tension seems to echo off the walls. Eugene’s so cold it’s as if his bones have frozen solid, and he can feel Shelton’s eyes on him, waiting for him to eat.

After a while, Shelton admits, “We’re supposed to go home, Gene.”

Eugene rolls his eyes. “Yeah.”

“We ain’t supposed to stick around when it’s done.”

“We ain’t supposed to do a lot of things.”

He looks at Shelton then, daring for an argument, but there isn’t one. Chewing awkwardly on his lip, Shelton nods. “Alright.”

There’s a lump in Eugene’s throat and he refuses to swallow it down. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. The air is rancid with sick and his bones are too heavy in his body. Shelton is starting to fidget. 

“It’d be different, stateside, Gene.”

Eugene shrugs. “It was always gonna be different.”

Shelton drops his head back against the wall and sighs. “Goddamn, you’re thick.”

“So they tell me.”

“Don’t get cute,” Shelton grumbles, rummaging for his cigarettes and lighter. “This ain’t a joke, Eugene. We keep up what we doin’ back home and the wrong folks find out, we’re done for.”

“How’s that different from here?”

“Everyone knows here,” Shelton answers so quickly Eugene has barely finished his question. 

“What about you, then?” Eugene asks, “What do you want?”

For some reason, Shelton doesn’t seem to expect that question. He takes a long drag of his cigarette without looking at Eugene. His eyes land on his slicker, still spread out over the floor. “You don’t know what you’re askin’.”

Eugene bristles at that. “I’m not as stupid as you think I am, Shelton.” 

When Shelton frowns as if he’s going to argue, Eugene talks over him. 

“Don’t think I know what love is like, but you’ve never done it before, either. Said so yourself. It’d change stateside. I know that. But this — you love me.”

Smoke curls out of Shelton’s mouth, his eyes still on the floor. “What if I took that back?”

“I’d kick your ass for being a damn liar,” Eugene answers without hesitation. “That’s what.”

It makes Shelton smile, a nervous huff of laughter before putting his cigarette back in his mouth. He gets up and stands in front of Eugene, blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth as he reaches up to press cool knuckles against Eugene’s forehead. “How you feelin’?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Answer the question.”

Still fuming, Eugene grumbles, “Better.”

“Good.” Shelton leans down and kisses him, quick and soft, and the rage deflates out of Eugene, leaving him feeling petty and empty. “Then eat your damn beans.”

Eugene does, with pointed attitude. Shelton uses a rag from his seabag to mop up the mess on the floor. He actually gets down on his hands and knees and scrubs it away without asking anything of Eugene, who stays curled up on the cot watching silently with his can of beans. It’s not like Shelton to work beyond his detail, but Eugene isn’t sure what it means for him to do so. When he’s finished, he throws the rag into the laundry outside and returns to sit next to Eugene on the cot. There’s an awkward beat before he reaches up and runs his hand through Eugene’s sweat-slick hair.

The rest of the day is tense between them; quiet. Eugene keeps to the barracks and Shelton doesn’t. When night falls, Eugene holds his breath until Shelton lies down beside him. It’s awkward, Shelton lying in a way where they touch as little as possible. They’re both silent, and Eugene’s too afraid to move. Eventually, Eugene falls asleep without ever hearing Shelton’s snore.

They don’t talk about it again. 

Eugene tries, but Shelton always goes rigid and silent at any mention of it, or leaves the room entirely. Eugene wonders if it’s the fear of being together without the war that scares him, or the fear of staying together at all. He knows Shelton has never been with anyone this long. All of his excuses have to do with the danger of returning stateside as queers that someone might notice, but Eugene wonders if it’s more to do with finality. Whenever Eugene tries to ask, Shelton’s only response is “Don’t.”

He’s distant and moody now, and Eugene can’t shake the thought that what they’ve had for those precious few weeks is over, and it’s all his doing.


	9. Chapter 9

It’s been six days since his birthday when, spooned loosely against Eugene’s back, Shelton’s hand dips under the waistline of his dungarees. Shelton has hardly touched him at all since the night of his birthday, and the shock of it causes Eugene to yelp.

“Quiet down,” Shelton hisses, and Eugene instinctively freezes. Shelton’s hands are warm and familiar, and the palpable tension between them has felt like a weight on Eugene’s chest. The weight loosens when Shelton presses his face into the crook of Eugene’s neck. His heart is pounding. It feels oddly like the first time. The air around them is still and silent, and Eugene’s afraid that if he moves, Shelton will stop.

He panics when Shelton starts to shift away, but it’s only to slide down the cot. Shelton opens Eugene’s pants and pushes them down. Time seems to move slower. Shaking fingers fall away from Eugene’s cock, and when Shelton slides his mouth over him without a word, Eugene suddenly feels his blood boil.

He’s not going to say anything. Not a damn word. Not about them, or about the past week. No apologies or pleas or even sweet little nothings in French. He’s just going to go right back to taking what he wants and act as if none of it ever happened. 

Eugene moves suddenly, kicking his legs off the cot and sending Shelton sprawling to the floor. Scrambling to stay in Eugene’s lap, Shelton hoists himself up to his knees, and something powerful and cruel stirs deep in Eugene’s bones at the sight of him on the ground. They stare at each other, entirely frozen before Shelton moves again, returning and sliding his mouth back over Eugene’s cock.

This time, groveling on his knees, Eugene allows it. He digs his nails hard in Shelton’s scalp to hold him still and stares him down. Shelton only blinks back, unable to move for the way Eugene is holding him. He’s waiting. Eugene works his hips, just once, and Shelton’s jaw slides wide like a gag reflex. He doesn’t break eye contact, too stubborn, so Eugene doesn’t let go, moving his hips again, harder and faster, until Shelton’s eyes are watering.

The room smells like sweat and sex and Eugene doesn’t make a sound. Tears are running freely down Shelton’s face now. Eugene can almost pretend they mean something other than choking on Eugene’s cock.

It’s not fair. None of this is. Shelton had told him he loved him. They were good, they were happy for just a moment. Of course Eugene wanted things to stay that way. Tears are prickling at his own eyes, and he screws them shut to keep Shelton from seeing. 

Home is something new and terrifying now. He just wants to keep this instead. He wants to keep the only person who loves who he is now. After everything he’s done, everything he’s lived through. All he has left is Shelton. He just wants to keep him.

His nails are sunk so deep in Shelton’s scalp that he can hear him whimpering. He thrusts his hips harder, cringing against the sensation of Shelton gagging as Eugene’s cock hits the back of his throat. He feels nothing but an odd, sick rolling in the pit of his stomach. He’s disgusted with himself and furious at Shelton and just wants it to be over. 

When he comes, it leaves Eugene empty, shaken, feeling more alone than he had before, and Shelton pulls off coughing with his eyes on the floor. Eugene gets to his feet and straightens his dungarees. He doesn’t look at Shelton as he stomps into his boots and rushes out the door before Shelton has even caught his breath.

It’s freezing outside, and Eugene pitifully regrets leaving the comfort of the barracks the instant the door shuts behind him. He keeps moving to stay as warm as he can, and to make sure Shelton can’t catch up to him if he tries it. He leaves the courtyard through the Compound gates and heads to the city.

It’s later in the afternoon, sun already disappeared under the horizon, and most of the people usually milling about the streets have gone inside. He’s fussing with his pipe when he passes a little bar with its light still on, and his heart sinks when he recognizes it as the one the others took him to on his birthday.

He doesn’t really want to, but ducks inside for a break from the cold. It’s mostly empty, a stark difference from how lively and full it had been the last time. There’s a bearded white man half asleep near the window, and two white-haired Chinamen bickering over their beers a little too loudly for the hour. Awkwardly, he lights his pipe. The bartender looks up at the click of his lighter and shouts a friendly greeting as he recognizes him. 

When Eugene comes up to the bar, the man says in a thick but friendly accent, “On the house, friend.”

Smiling, Eugene shrugs. “Beer’s fine,” he says, “And I don’t mind paying.”

The bartender waves him off, blowing a raspberry before laughing. “Beer’s cheap. You’re hero.”

He pours Eugene a pint and sets it in front of him with a grin. Eugene raises it gratefully before taking a sip. He wishes he had someone to turn and talk to. It feels odd to watch in silence as the bartender turns and walks away from him.

It’s awkward to balance his pipe in one hand as he drinks with the other. Eugene’s skin still feels as if it’s crawling. Every time he leans far enough back from the bar he sees a flash of Shelton kneeling at his feet. The image causes him to bite down hard on his pipe, and he feels the bit chip between his teeth. He hunches over and keeps his eyes on the wood of the bar, trying not to think about how he left Shelton alone.

He wonders, briefly, how it’s any different from what Shelton did to him.

The pint is still mostly full, so Eugene reaches in his pocket and pulls out a fistful of banknotes he can still hardly understand. He hopes he’s tipping well when he puts two of the same note down on the bar before heading out the door.

When Eugene makes it back to the barracks, Shelton is still sitting on the floor of their bunk. There’s a half-empty pack of cigarettes in his lap and one smoldering between his lips. He’s playing absently with his lighter, and looks up when Eugene comes in.

They stare at each other for a beat before Shelton’s eyes drop back to his lighter. He clicks it open, then closed, and says nothing until Eugene walks up to him and snatches the lighter from his hands.

“Hey!”

Grabbing the lit cigarette from Shelton’s mouth, Eugene rips it away from him and tosses it next to his shoe, stomping it out without a word. He doesn’t give Shelton time to react before grabbing a handful of Shelton’s coat and ripping him up to meet Eugene’s mouth.

Their teeth clack loudly and Shelton makes a noise like something between surprise and relief before sagging in Eugene’s grip.

He’s not sure what it is. It’s not forgiveness, but when they crawl back into their cot, Shelton presses against him. Eugene’s muscles wind tight when he feels Shelton curl against his back. They haven’t been this close in days. It’s quiet as Eugene lets his heartbeat calm down, and he can feel Shelton breathing nervously against his neck. 

“Gene,” he says after a moment, almost like a question. Eugene doesn’t respond, and he can almost hear the wheels turning in Shelton’s head without looking at him. Finally, there’s a sharp intake of breath at his shoulder. “Sorry.”

Startled, Eugene answers, “Okay.”

Silence resettles over them. The severity of what just happened sinks in all at once. Shelton doesn’t apologize, never out loud. Eugene shifts around in Shelton’s arms to look him in the eye, but Shelton is staring past his shoulder. 

He’s not sure what it is that Shelton is sorry for. If it’s for the way he’s acted the past week, or the things he said after leaving Eugene to wake up alone. It could even be for sucking his cock earlier. It’s hard to tell with Shelton.

Eugene wants to ask, but he knows Shelton won’t answer. 

“It’s — it’s okay,” he assures softly. 

Shelton still doesn’t look at him, but nods.

They don’t say anything else to each other. Eugene’s throat is tight as he turns back onto his side. Shelton’s weight presses into him, face nuzzled close against Eugene’s nape. Eugene doesn’t move again before falling asleep.

Roll call sounds in the morning and Shelton has only wrapped tighter around him.

“We gotta go,” Eugene mumbles.

Nodding, Shelton untangles his arms from around Eugene, pressing a kiss into his neck before pulling away to sit up and shuffle into his boots. He’s quiet as he gets dressed. When Eugene stands, Shelton jumps to his feet and grabs his wrist. He kisses Eugene hard, desperately, one hand reaching up to hold the back of Eugene’s neck.

Surprised, Eugene jolts back. Shelton whines, low in the back of his throat, and Eugene lifts his hands in surrender. 

“Merriell,” he says gently, “I meant it. It’s alright.”

The look on Shelton’s face is pained. “Yeah,” he finally manages, “Okay.”

The next few days are somewhat off, as if they’re still fighting in secret, without any of the anger left. Maybe Eugene is still angry. He’s not sure. Shelton won’t apologize out loud a second time, but he passes bits of his meals to Eugene in the mess, and curls tight against his back at night.

It’s almost a week before Eugene realizes Shelton is the one waiting on him. Eugene takes the food at mess and allows Shelton to spoon against him at night, but since that morning when Eugene pushed him away, Shelton hasn’t tried again to even kiss him. Eugene wonders if Shelton thinks he isn’t allowed.

So that night, when Shelton presses close against Eugene’s back, Eugene shuffles slightly in his arms to turn and face him. Shelton’s eyes are intent on him, dark and wide, and his mouth falls open as if he wants to ask something.

It doesn’t matter what it is. Eugene leans forward and kisses him, quick and chaste, but Shelton grabs hold of him and keeps him close, deepening the kiss until Eugene sighs into his mouth.

“ _Je suis désolé,_ ” Shelton whispers as he pulls away, kissing down his neck. “ _Je suis désolé. S'il te plaît._ ”

Grabbing a fistful of Shelton’s hair, Eugene tugs him back. “What’s that? What’re you saying?”

Shelton licks his lip, trying to diminish his quiet anxiety. He clears his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Eugene asks, feeling bolder than he had several days ago.

Forcing a nervous laugh, Shelton answers back, “You want a list?”

Eugene feels the corner of his mouth quirk up, despite himself. “If you got one.”

The smile falls from Shelton’s face, and he nods. “We can’t stay here, Gene.” It doesn’t sound like an apology, and Eugene frowns. Shelton shrugs, a sigh coming out of him shaky and loud. “And I’m — I’m sorry ‘bout that. For one.”

“Is that —” Eugene starts, “Do you want that?”

“It ain’t about what we want, Gene,” Shelton sighs. “Ain’t no use askin’ for it.”

It’s of use to Eugene. He’s struggling to force his argument out past the lump swelling in his throat when Shelton adds, “Sorry ‘bout that, too.”

His hands are warm as they quickly but gently remove Eugene’s clothes. When Eugene reaches for him, Shelton bats his hands away. He snatches hold of Eugene’s wrists in one hand and pins them down above his head. It’s enough to make Eugene freeze, and Shelton kisses him before pulling back.

“Should’ve done you like this on your birthday,” he says with a wink. “That’s three.”

It’s not exactly any of the things Eugene needs an apology for, but somehow it is, just the same. Shelton never apologizes for anything, and Eugene can tell he’s too scared to be as blunt as he usually is. Swallowing hard, Eugene attempts to smirk. His tongue feels thick when he manages to speak. 

“You love me,” he says flatly. It’s not a question, or something Eugene believes is up for dispute, but Shelton nods, anyway.

“ _Pas désolé pour ça._ ”

Eugene squints. “Huh?”

Shelton smiles at him before dipping his head to kiss Eugene’s throat. “You love me, too,” he murmurs, cupping Eugene’s nape with his free hand as he kisses to his chest. “That’s four.”

“Don’t,” Eugene snaps at him. 

He means to say more, but his breath falters when Shelton’s thumb slides firm and careful over his throat. The pressure causes something to click, and Eugene’s eyes slide closed. Shelton whispers his name, and Eugene nods. 

“I’m not gonna hurt you, Gene.”

“I know,” Eugene answers, keeping his eyes shut. 

It’s never been a question. Shelton has only ever kept him safe since Eugene joined the squad. The thumb over his jugular pushes down, and Eugene’s body goes slack. It feels good, secure. Eugene lets out a breath and opens his eyes.

Shelton’s eyes are on fire. “Gene —”

“You’re not gonna hurt me,” Eugene says before Shelton can finish his thought. Shelton nods, licks his lips. He looks anxious, and Eugene lets out another breath against the pressure on his throat. “I’m okay.”

“You’d stop me,” Shelton says, tilting his head, more a statement than a question.

Eugene nods. “I’d stop you,” he lies.

The hand clutching Eugene’s wrists lets go. The rifle oil must already be open by their lamp, because his fingers are slick when they slide between his legs. Eugene yelps, and the thumb at his throat presses hard. It makes Eugene’s head spin, but when he closes his eyes, Shelton growls. 

“Look at me.”

It’s impossible not to do as he says. Shelton’s fingers are quick and soft on his skin for only a moment before they disappear. Eugene whimpers, and Shelton squeezes his throat. 

“ _Patience, cher._ ”

Eugene watches Shelton’s face as he prepares himself, using the hand on his throat to hold himself up. It makes Eugene’s skin tingle and his eyes water with the need to drop closed. Shelton keeps his eyes on him, jaw working as he keeps himself quiet. When he pulls his hand away he leans in close to Eugene’s face. 

“Keep quiet, it’s late.”

He punctuates the statement by pressing down on Eugene’s throat again, and Eugene nods absently, a soft whine crawling out from his chest. Shelton’s eyes are wide when his slick fingers wrap around Eugene’s cock again. 

When Eugene tries to move, Shelton says firmly, “Quit squirmin’.”

Eugene does as he’s told without thinking, and Shelton tilts his head curiously. He drops his cock, moving to wrap his greasy hand back over Eugene’s wrists as he eases himself into Eugene’s lap.

It shouldn’t feel this good. He can’t move, he can barely breathe. But Shelton is looking at him like he’s made of gold, and he feels protected. Shelton would never hurt him. Shelton has killed to keep him safe. Shelton loves him.

“Gene,” Shelton’s voice cuts through Eugene’s thoughts like a knife. “Fuck me. C’mon.”

Nodding, Eugene thrusts up into Shelton, and the grip on his wrists goes slack. Eugene whimpers, and Shelton lets go of his arms to latch onto his hair, keeping the hand at his throat steady. 

“Can’t fuck into me that way,” he murmurs, tilting Eugene’s head back to meet his eyes, baring his throat. “You wanna do it harder than this, don’t you?”

He’d been angry. Furious. Eugene hasn’t forgotten, but Shelton has a way of muting anything around him that doesn’t instantly benefit him. Eugene swallows, licks his lips. Shelton had apologized. His hands are warm and calming. Eugene isn’t angry anymore. He opens his mouth to say so, but Shelton grinds back against his lap, cutting him off before he can speak.

“I want you to, Gene.”

And that’s enough. Eugene nods, hands flying up to hold Shelton down by his hips, thrusting forward as best he can. Shelton cries out, eyes clenching shut and his jaw tense. The hand at Eugene’s throat falls slack for only an instant before Eugene feels nails digging into his skin. The grip is so tight that Eugene gasps, struggling for breath against the pressure, and Shelton’s eyes fly open at the sound.

Eugene doesn’t stop moving against Shelton, rhythm faltering as he starts to lose track of his thoughts. There’s still a hand in his hair, slick and tight, keeping his head pressed back against the cot. Shelton hasn’t told him he can stop, so he doesn’t. He moves faster, harder, pressing himself into the soft skin at Shelton’s hips. He can’t speak, he can’t make a sound. Shelton told him not to.

Colours are starting to fade in and out, sound around them ringing. There’s a sudden, stinging pain at Eugene’s neck, and he wonders briefly if Shelton has broken the skin. He thrusts hard enough up into Shelton that it causes him to whine. Eugene has stopped trying to breathe, lungs burning as he keeps his jaw clenched against the noises Shelton won’t let him make. His skin is on fire. He’s so close his vision is starting to tunnel. He wants to beg, but Shelton had told him to keep quiet.

Air wrings out of him when Shelton’s hand goes limp, joining the other tangled in Eugene’s hair. Shelton drops his forehead against Eugene’s, panting for breath in between sluggish, needy kisses. Eugene’s head is spinning. He feels as if he’s underwater. Shelton is trembling over him, slick and spent, looking as if he might pass out, and Eugene lets go of his hip to cup his face.

He says something. He’s not sure what. Shelton’s name. A plea. Something. He’s not meant to, but it slips out, desperate. Shelton stares at him a moment, and then nods.

It’s all Eugene needs from him. Everything goes white for an instant, eyes rolling back, and his body feels as it’s coming apart, shutting off all at once. He loses track of where his limbs are, and his body feels like lead. There’s too much air in his lungs but he can’t seem to catch his breath. The only sound is the rushing of blood in his ears until Shelton’s voice breaks through.

“Look at me, _cher._ That’s it.”

Eugene opens his eyes to Shelton bowed over him, shaking in his arms. It’s hard to tell if it’s from the cold hitting his skin or his release, but either way, when Shelton shifts off of his lap, Eugene holds him to his chest. His hand wraps tight around Eugene’s dogtags, and Eugene feels warmth seep through his skin as he gives them a light tug.

He’s still shivering, and nuzzles his face into Eugene’s neck. Eugene can feel Shelton’s heartbeat hammering against his chest and breath heavy on his neck. He drapes his arms over Shelton’s back and waits for him to relax.

It’s been quiet for nearly an hour. Eugene is drifting off when Shelton kisses his neck. He wraps Eugene’s dogtags lazily around his fingers like they belong there, face still tucked into Eugene’s shoulder.

“Back on Okinawa you threw a damn fit about how bad you wanted to get home. Now you’re tellin’ me you’d rather stay in fuckin’ China?”

“I’d rather stay —” Eugene hesitates for a moment before pushing through the embarrassment and finishing, “I’d rather stay with you.”

The dogtags drop back on Eugene’s chest with a dull _clink,_ but Shelton doesn’t say anything. 

Feeling brave and loose, Eugene says, “I know you don’t think you’re a reason to stay. But I could say the same about myself.”

It takes Shelton a moment to recover enough to respond. He finally moves his head to meet Eugene’s eyes. “What?”

Propping his elbows up against the cot, Eugene swallows hard against the awkward lump in his throat. “You — you don’t talk about home, either. When the guys talk. You don’t — you never have anything to say.”

“Gene —”

“Tell me what makes me so much Goddamn better than you.”

Shelton bristles at that, as if he has any right to. “I never planned on goin’ home, Gene.”

“Neither did I!” Eugene barks back, “You think you’re the only one who expected not to make it? None of us did. I had no intentions —”

“Well, _I_ did.”

Squinting, Eugene falters. “You just said —”

“Not for me, idiot,” Shelton grumbles, “I mean you. Told you back on Okinawa. I wasn’t gonna let you die.”

“Right,” Eugene feels a flash of heat in his face at the memory. “Well. Neither of us did. So what now, Shelton? You gotta make plans now. Why can’t they be with me?”

Shelton rolls his eyes. “Because you’re gonna go home and find a nice girl and make a bunch of little Sledgehammers, that’s why. Like you’re supposed to.”

“Is that what you’re gonna do?” Eugene asks. He hasn’t thought of girls and children for himself since they declared peacetime, but he’s not going to let himself be derailed from his original question. “Gonna find a dame, make babies. That’s what you want when you go home?”

Shelton just shrugs. “I guess.”

“That’s bullshit,” Eugene snaps back. “It’s as much bullshit for you as it is for me.”

Shelton raises his eyebrows. “Yeah? What’d you want me to say, Gene? Want me to take you home to meet my old man? Sure he’d _love_ you. That’d go over swell.”

“You don’t have —”

“Get us a cozy old cabin on the bayou where I can be your sweet little wife. Suck your cock every morning? That what you want?”

He pauses, giving Eugene time to answer, so he does.

“Yeah.” Before Shelton can react, Eugene adds, “I could be the wife, if you’d rather.”

That causes something in Shelton’s face to go soft. 

Eugene latches onto it, babbling, “I could stay home and cook you dinner every night. Wouldn’t be so bad.”

Shelton’s face breaks into a smile and the tension cracks when he can’t help but tease him. “I put money on you burnin’ down our whole damn cabin if you set foot in the kitchen. You ever cook a damn thing in your life, rich boy?”

“I could learn,” Eugene says with a shrug. “You could teach me.”

“Yeah, I’d have to.”

He seems to have fallen into the fantasy without meaning to. Eugene takes the distraction and leans forward to kiss Shelton’s throat, rolling him onto his back as he rattles on. “You could teach me everything,” Eugene continues, kissing down his chest, “I’ll do all of it for you. Housework, washing, whatever you want.”

Shelton huffs a laugh as Eugene’s hand skates over his ribs. “They teach you to do _anything_ back home?”

Shaking his head, Eugene kisses along Shelton’s stomach. “Not a damn thing,” he answers, slipping between his legs. Shelton jerks when Eugene slides his mouth over Shelton’s cock, and Eugene shoves his hips down to keep from choking.

Shelton gasps out something vulgar and bucks his hips, one hand flying out to grab a fistful of Eugene’s hair. He’s still too sensitive. Eugene can tell from watching the line of his body trying not to squirm. 

“God, that’s —” Shelton growls, an aborted little roll to his hips that makes Eugene’s eyes water. He’s trying so hard to be gentle, but his hands won’t stop grappling for purchase in Eugene’s hair. 

Encouraged, Eugene slides his mouth down further, and Shelton makes a sound like he’s trying not to cry. 

“Fast learner,” Shelton hisses through his teeth, “Won’t — _fuck_ — won’t take long.”

Eugene hums appreciatively, and Shelton’s grip on his hair tightens as he throws a leg over his shoulders. Eugene holds back the instinct to cough as he slides further down Shelton’s cock. It’s so soon after the last time, he’s trying to be soft about it, hoping he’s succeeding. He goes slow easing his tongue over Shelton. The weight of it sends a thrill up Eugene’s spine.

“Don’t have to — teach you anything,” Shelton rambles. “Ain’t gotta be good at shit other than this.” 

It’s hard to tell if it’s the lack of air or Shelton’s words making Eugene’s head spin. Shelton props up against his free elbow to watch Eugene bob his head back and down again. His mouth seems to run without his full permission as he stares at Eugene. 

“Just spend all day — ruining this pretty rich-boy face of yours.”

He can’t nod, so he bobs his head again. Shelton seems to have forgotten he ever had anything against this plan, nodding distractedly as his jaw drops open. He still sounds near to tears, mumbling a mixture of French and English that’s hard to understand. 

Eugene has stopped trying to pick out anything he’s saying when he hears, soft and half-hysterical, “You’d stay with me?”

Shelton must have no idea what he’s said, nearly out of his mind and still whispering nonsense as if he’d never asked. But Eugene locks eyes with Shelton, searching his face, and he wants it. He’d meant it. It gives Eugene an odd swell of power. Shelton sits up and tries to pull him off before he comes, but Eugene only swallows harder, until the thick, bitter tang coats his tongue enough that he gags against his cock.

“Gene, _Gene._ Fuck —!”

By the time Eugene pulls off, Shelton is doubled over, curled around him, breathing heavy in his hair. He’s still mumbling Eugene’s name, over and over, and when Eugene turns his head to kiss him, Shelton jumps, shocked that he’s moved at all.

“I love you,” Eugene whispers, voice hoarse. 

Shelton nods, fingers trailing limp over his face as he buries his nose in Eugene’s hair. “I — yeah,” he says finally, sounding dazed. “Love you too, Gene.”

They fall asleep heavy and warm against each other, and the next morning at roll call, Shelton acts as if nothing has changed, as if their whole argument had never happened. 

Eugene thinks that’s the end of it, that it won’t come up again in conversation. It’s not unlike Shelton to treat forgiveness and forgetting as the same. But a few days later they’re curled up in the warmth of a little noodle bar and Shelton watches with a smug grin as Eugene struggles to eat neatly with the long wooden chopsticks.

“Some wife you gonna be, Sledgehammer.” 

Soup sprays everywhere as Eugene chokes in surprise, face burning, and Shelton bursts out laughing.


	10. Chapter 10

It’s December before it seems like it should be. Christmas cards and letters on festive stationary start to pour in from families overseas. A few of the boots get packages from home. Eugene gets a letter from his mother waxing on about how strange it still is to have a holiday without him, and how much stranger still it’s going to be now that his brother has returned from Europe. 

Midway through the month, Pete finds an evergreen tree limb small enough to fit inside the barracks and claims it to be a Christmas tree. He alone drags it into the building while the rest of the company gather in the common hall to watch his progress, sprawled out on the floor playing cards and offering commentary. 

He asks for help, but Eugene pretends he hasn’t heard. He keeps his eyes on his pipe, inspecting the splintering wood at the bit with a frown. 

The others show no attempt at politeness when turning him down. Redifer laughs at him and goes back to reading. Burgie just turns on his heel and walks away. Shelton simply refuses. Undeterred, calling them traitors and rubberneckers, Pete hauls his prize the rest of the way on his own and props it up against the wall, leaning it against some water pipes for stability. He steps aside and surveys his work, hands on his hips with an air of pride. Shelton, still blatantly gawking, points out that it’s just a dead branch and that he’s left a wake of dried pine needles on the floor that they’re going to have to sweep for inspection. Pete calls him a Scrooge without even turning to face him.

“We ain’t got no presents to put under it.”

“Go find some, then, Snafu,” Pete argues, “Ain’t that hard.”

“Ain’t got nothin’ to wrap it in.”

“We all got newspapers,” Pete says gleefully, “Cheer the fuck up. It’s the holidays.” 

Shelton rolls his eyes at everything Pete says, but later that day without explanation he disappears into the city for hours and doesn’t tell Eugene or anyone else where he’s been. When Eugene pesters him, he just grins. 

“It’s a surprise,” Shelton tells him as he lights his cigarette. “Ain’t the season to be nosy. Just ask Fouts.”

Smiling, Eugene drops it. Two days later, a small parcel wrapped crudely in newspaper appears under their sad little tree next to Pete’s bundled little parcels for Burgie and Redifer. When Eugene picks it up to inspect it he finds _Sledgehammer_ written along the side in Shelton’s sloping handwriting.

Weeks go by, and gradually, one or two at a time, more newspaper parcels join the pile under their makeshift tree. The boots especially appreciate the gesture, buying little things for everyone at nearby markets. Eugene finds a sterling pocket watch for Burgie and buys a tooled leather strap and a tiny little jingle bell suitable to fashion a collar for Pete’s cat, but nothing seems fitting for Shelton whenever he goes into the markets to search.

Three tallies before Christmas and there’s at least one gift for and from each man in the squad, but Eugene still hasn’t found anything. Shelton hardly seems the type of person to mind, but it weighs on Eugene’s chest. Every time he goes out looking for something, everything available seems even less satisfactory than before.

If Shelton notices that Eugene doesn’t have a gift for him, he doesn’t care enough to show it. It’s just one more tally to Christmas and he still has nothing. Eugene is propped up against Shelton, nearly in his lap, trying to think of something worthwhile to give him while Shelton reads over a letter from his father, one arm draped over Eugene’s middle. Even if they weren’t alone, none of the men take notice of their closeness anymore, even to tease them over.

“You’re awful quiet,” Shelton says around his cigarette, not looking up from his letter. “Somethin’ on that busy mind of yours?”

Eugene shrugs. “What’d you get me?” he asks to avoid the question.

Grinning, Shelton’s free hand moves to entwine his fingers with Eugene’s left, giving it a brief squeeze before letting his fingers go slack to roll over his knuckles. “Must’ve been a nightmare for your folks growin’ up, huh?”

“Santa Claus wasn’t around for me to ask,” Eugene says with a smile, watching Shelton’s fingers trace absently over his hand. Shelton laughs, giving the ring on his finger a playful twist before moving his arm to fold up the letter haphazardly and throw it aside. Eugene pretends not to notice, his eyes still on his hand.

“Well you ain’t gettin’ any answers from me, neither,” Shelton says over his shoulder.

Eugene doesn’t look up, an idea finally forming. He forgets to respond.

It’s easiest to wait when Shelton’s asleep. Eugene pretends he’d rather stay up reading when Shelton tries to drag him into the rack. He waits until he hears Shelton snoring before creeping into the barracks hall. A small stack of old newspapers is folded neatly next to the tree branch and presents, and Eugene carefully slides one off the pile before taking his father’s ring off his finger.

He doesn’t want to second guess it. He wraps the ring up tightly in newspaper until it’s an unrecognizable ball of Chinese newsprint. He takes the pencil from his back pocket and scribbles _Snafu_ on it as neatly as he can.

The full weight of it doesn’t settle until Eugene sets it with all the others. Breathing deep and even, Eugene sits back on his heels and stares at the tiny package nestled among the rest and tries to imagine how Shelton will react to it. He knows he can’t let him open it in front of everyone else. That alone might spook him too much. What the fuck is he thinking? He snatches it back from under the tree and starts to pull the wrapping apart before Shelton’s voice, breathy and quiet echoes in his head. 

_“You’d stay with me?”_

He tucks the paper back into itself and stares at it.

He looks at the pile in front of the tree branch, and back down at his hands. He could give something else. Do whatever Shelton asks him to after everyone else has gone to bed. He flips the little ball of newspaper in his hand and frowns.

That wouldn’t be enough.

Swallowing anxiously, Eugene places the paper ball back under the branch and gets to his feet before he can give it another thought. It’ll be fine. He forces himself to think about anything else as he sneaks back down the hall. Shelton is still snoring when Eugene slips gently as possible next to him on their cot. Shelton doesn’t stir. Eugene stares blankly at the overhead for what feels like hours. By the time sleep finally takes him, he’s utterly exhausted.

The next morning is a rush of hollering and noise, and Eugene shoves his head under their meager pillow in a mixture of shame and horror. It’s too late to undo it, now. Shelton is wide awake before he can even think to beat him to the commotion.

“C’mon, Sledgehammer,” Shelton grunts as he tries to pull Eugene out of bed, “You were so damn curious last night, now’s your chance.”

Squinting out from the pillow, Eugene sees Shelton grinning, hands wrapped tight around his wrist, and his heart flutters slightly in his chest. Maybe it’ll be fine. Shelton loves him. Loves him enough to tell him. Loves him more than Eugene thinks he even realizes. 

_“You’d stay with me?”_

Breath caught in his throat, Eugene nods. He lets Shelton pull him to his feet and wanders out into the hall where the rest of the men are crowded around the dead old branch like children. There are tufts of newsprint strewn around from the few men eager enough to tear into their gifts before Eugene and Shelton got there.

Burgie smiles at them as they sit down, holding out this gift from Eugene in his hands. “This is pretty ritzy, Sledgehammer,” he says, waving the watch from its chain, “Maybe I should take back the book I got you and find you somethin’ snazzier.”

“A book’s fine,” Eugene laughs, taking the package from Burgie’s hands. He tears the paper enough to see John Steinbeck’s name in wide, white lettering and pulls it away from the paper excitedly. 

“I don’t have this one,” he says, beaming as he flips it over in his hands. “Thank you.”

Burgie grins. “Thank heaven,” he answers, tucking his watch into his pocket. “You’re a hard one to pin down, you know that? Anyway there wasn’t much left of Private Leckie’s library to choose from.”

Eugene notices Shelton pick up his gift from Eugene out of the corner of his eye and spins around. 

“Don’t, uh —” Shelton blinks up at him. “Wait.” He says pointedly. 

Shelton bites back the edge of a smile. Eugene tells himself that’s a good sign.

Pete had found him a lapel pin and Gibbons had wrapped a soft blue pocket square for him. The presents seem oddly out of place, and remind Eugene starkly of just how much the others are focusing their thoughts on home. It’s strange to remember he’s almost entirely alone in trying to avoid thoughts of returning stateside. Just four months ago Eugene was dying to go home just as badly as the rest of them. Shelton makes sure there are no other presents for Eugene before handing over his own. 

“Best for last,” he says pointedly.

Rolling his eyes, Eugene takes it from him, but when he rips the paper away, the exasperation disappears. Under the wrapping is a long polished wooden box with his initials carved neatly in the bottom corner. When Eugene opens the lid, he smiles down at the shining new pipe and the leather pouch of cleaning tools beside it.

When Eugene looks up from the present, Burgie and Pete are staring just as intently as Shelton is. At Eugene’s attention, they both look away. Burgie looks to Shelton, but Pete only rolls his eyes and goes back to trying to fit his cat’s new collar onto his tiny fuzzy neck. 

“Where’d you find this?” Eugene asks, voice low, trying to keep his grin in check.

“Shop in the city,” Shelton answers with a shrug.

Eugene shakes his head. “This here,” he says, poking the neat script carved in the corner. Shelton watches his finger with a grin.

“I did that.”

Eugene feels the bottom of his stomach vanish, heat crawling up his neck. “Huh?”

“Sure,” Shelton answers, shrugging again as he pulls his P-38 from his pocket. “I’m miles better workin’ this thing than you, remember?”

He smiles warm and easy. He knows the extra effort makes it different. He knows what it means to Eugene. As he puts the can opener back in his pocket, Eugene notices his fingers shaking. Shelton tries to act like nothing matters too much, but he’s never been very good at pulling that off around Eugene.

Running his finger over the monogram on the box, Eugene grins. Shelton loves him. He looks back up to see Shelton beaming proudly. 

Voice still low, Eugene asks, “Wanna open yours?”

Instead of answering, Shelton starts to unwrap it, and Eugene grabs his hand to stop him. 

“Not — c’mere.”

Gathering his gifts together under one arm he takes Shelton’s wrist with his free hand and drags him down the hall to their bunk. Shutting the door behind them, Shelton looks from the tiny ball of newspaper to Eugene’s face, smiling impishly. 

“What is this?” he asks, “You worried you got me somethin’ so good I’m gonna throw you down and fuck you on the floor in front of everybody?”

A panicked laugh bubbles out of Eugene loud enough that Shelton jumps. 

“Uh — I — well, no.” Eugene laughs again, his face burning. He takes an awkward step back from Shelton and looks at his feet. “Just open it.”

Somewhere between intrigued and disturbed, Shelton goes back to unwrapping the ball of newspaper. His hands move much slower now, and Eugene can’t tell if Shelton is too unnerved to want to know what it is any longer, or if time has just started to drag from his panic.

When Eugene’s ring is finally visible among the folds of paper, the air in the room seems to disappear. Shelton falls heavily onto their cot before looking up at Eugene, first his face, then to inspect his hands twisting anxiously in front of him. He doesn’t speak before looking back down at his lap.

“Gene…”

Silence swallows them. Eugene forgets to breathe.

“This is yours,” Shelton says finally. 

He still hasn’t picked it up from the bundle of torn newsprint. Eugene nods. He feels sweat dripping cold down the back of his neck. He wants to say something, but his mouth feels full of cotton.

“I can’t take this, Eugene.”

“You can,” bursts out of Eugene before he can manage to fill his lungs. “Please take it. Nothing else — nothing was right.”

Shelton shakes his head. “This ain’t, either.”

There’s a sharp pang in Eugene’s chest, but he ignores it. Resolute, he answers. “It is.”

“Eugene, I _can’t take —_ ”

“Do you want to?”

Shelton’s words cut short, and he looks back down. He said he couldn’t take it. He said it wasn’t right. He didn’t say he didn’t want it. Eugene takes a deep breath. “I — I wanna give it to you. Do you wanna take it?”

“It ain’t about that, Gene.”

“Answer me.”

He doesn’t. He swallows wordlessly, and Eugene opens his mouth to repeat himself before Shelton plucks the ring from the newspaper with a quiet rustle. The room is painfully silent again, seconds feeling like hours. 

Finally, Shelton says, “The boys’re gonna notice you ain’t wearin’ it no more.”

“Everyone knows here,” Eugene parrots, voice cracking. His heart is pounding so hard he feels faint. 

He takes a few steps forward, shrinking the distance between them. Shelton doesn’t look up from the ring. 

“So they might know we’re fucking,” Shelton says pointedly, “I don’t — they don’t know this.”

“Yes, they do.” Eugene answers, his voice tight. 

Shelton doesn’t have anything to say to that. He rolls the ring in his fingers without a word. The sound from the hall starts to die down. Eugene can hear a few of the doors close, some of the men heading back to their own bunks with their spoils.

When the silence finally breaks, it’s Shelton. He clears his throat loudly before mumbling, “I can’t wear it out there. They all know it’s yours. Burgie’d hang us both himself.”

It’s the specification that stands out this time. Eugene nods. 

“No one here now but us, Merriell,” he points out hoarsely.

Looking from the ring to Eugene’s face, Shelton licks his lip. He moves to slide it over his finger and giggles a little hysterically when it catches momentarily on his knuckle. 

“Innit this thing always been big on you?” he asks in a rush. “Hands like this, you’re definitely the wife.”

The joke isn’t even funny, but Eugene’s never laughed harder in his life. He feels tears prick at his eyes as he gasps for air. He’s still chuckling when he kneels in front of Shelton, but the air swoops out of him when Shelton cups his face in his hands. The metal of the ring hasn’t quite warmed to Shelton’s skin, smooth and cool pressed into Eugene’s jaw.

Shelton’s breathing is heavy and erratic, almost as if he’s on the verge of panicking, and Eugene sits up on his knees to kiss him before he can.

Hands sliding up to grip at Eugene’s hair, Shelton pulls away just enough to catch his breath, still peppering kisses over Eugene’s mouth as he tries to speak. “You’re a fuckin’ —”

“Idiot,” Eugene interrupts, laughing breathlessly. “I know.”

Panting, Shelton smiles, shaking his head. He has something else to say, but Eugene doesn’t need to know what it is. He leans forward to take his mouth in another kiss and doesn’t let Shelton pull away this time. His own ring is a sturdy weight on Shelton’s hand. He can’t wear it outside this tiny bunk with just the two of them, but right now, it doesn’t matter. Nothing does. Right now, he’s wearing it.

They don’t break apart until a sharp knock jars them back to the present.

“Vacation’s over, boys,” Burgie calls from the other side of the door. “Roll call’s at the chapel this morning. Get out there now.”

The word _chapel_ causes Eugene’s heart to stutter in his chest. He clenches his left hand, fist oddly light as he adjusts to the sensation of naked fingers. He doesn’t want it back, but Shelton tugs the ring off his hand and presses it into Eugene’s palm without a word.

His eyes are focused pointedly on Eugene’s face. Neither of them say anything at first, and it’s hard to tell how long it’s been. 

Shelton’s voice is gravelly when he finally mutters, “Let’s go, Sledgehammer.”

Eugene doesn’t want to go anywhere. It’s safe here. Shelton can wear his ring and kiss him and nothing on the other side of that door has to matter. He doesn’t want to hear the sermon or see the cross hanging behind the pulpit. The ring is growing warm squeezed in his hand. He looks down at it, and Shelton kisses the crown of his head.

“If I skip service Christmas mornin’ now the war’s over, Mama’s gonna tell Saint Peter not to let me in.”

Eugene smiles, but his eyes are still on the ring in his hand. He doesn’t say anything, but he knows Saint Peter already won’t let either of them anywhere near the gates for the things they’ve done.

The whole walk to the chapel, Eugene flexes his fingers to keep from grabbing Shelton’s hand. He keeps his eyes on the wet greying snow at his feet, even after he and Shelton have fallen behind, bringing up the rear of the line. He listens to everyone else chattering excitedly about having the day off, each vet claiming plans for the afternoon over each other.

When Shelton nudges him, he doesn’t actually speak. He wants Eugene to say something. He’s probably been quiet too long for Shelton’s liking. 

He looks up at the sky, same colour as the snow on the ground, and mumbles, “Be kinda nice if it snowed.”

It’s such a mundane thing to say after what happened just moments ago, and it’s clearly not what Shelton is expecting to hear. He laughs, a loud, sudden bark, and looks up at the sky. “Ain’t never had snow on Christmas.”

“Me neither,” Eugene says with a smile. “It’d be nice.”

Fingers brush quick and light over the inside of Eugene’s wrist, but by the time Eugene reacts, Shelton’s hand is back in his pocket as if he imagined it.

It feels as if the chaplin’s eyes are on Eugene throughout the entire service. He doesn’t look up from his knees. The ring on his finger feels looser than it had before, like it no longer belongs to him.

It doesn’t, anymore. Not really. He glances at Shelton’s hand and remembers what it looked like a moment ago. He’d worn it. That means something. 

He twists the ring on his finger. It’s heavy and out of place now. He feels Shelton watching from beside him and wonders if he’s thinking the same thing; if his hands feel different than they had this morning. It was only for a moment, but Shelton’s eyes are trained on Eugene’s hands. It may have been long enough.

The officers go easy on them and give them the rest of the day after roll call. Stanley insists there will still be bunk inspections, but tells them that he’ll give them time to get their gifts in order first. Eugene hears Stanley tell Pete the tree needs to be gone by roll call tomorrow, but it’s longer than any of them thought they get away with. 

Now adorned with a jingling collar, Pete lets the cat mill about the barracks to inspect the other rooms and halls rather than just forcing the little thing to keep to Redifer and himself. Shelton and Eugene are both cleaning their racks for the inspection when it hops up onto their cot and mews. Shelton, kneeling under the cot to stow his seabag away, distractedly reaches up and scratches its tiny head.

“So does Stanley mind it here?” Eugene asks, fingers skirting over Shelton’s as he pats it too.

“Guess not,” Shelton answers with a shrug. When he looks up, his eyes only make it as far as Eugene’s hand. When he pulls his own hand back, he runs his thumb absentminded over the inside of his ring finger. Eugene watches, his stomach twisting.

Shelton wants the ring back.

Dinner in the mess that night is roast duck and rice. A few of the men argue that duck is nothing like turkey, but most don’t seem to mind. It doesn’t taste like anything to Eugene, his mind still back in the barracks on the way Shelton’s hands were shaking. Shelton is picking at his meal beside him, foot jiggling under the table. It feels rapid and loud, but it’s hard to tell if it’s actually noticeable to the others, or if Eugene just can’t focus on anything but Shelton. No one else is even looking at them.

No one seems to ever notice them anymore. It’s like nothing they can do surprises the company anymore. Eugene has gotten up to fill his water glass five times and no one but Shelton has even glanced up. He feels glaringly obvious, like a spotlight is shining above his head. His mouth is dry as sand and it feels as if something heavy is pressed tight over his lungs. He doesn’t want to be here, around everyone else. He wants to be back in the barracks with Shelton. Shelton acts a bit like a startled rabbit, quiet and tense with his eyes tracking Eugene’s every move. 

But no one else notices. Burgie gives Shelton an encouraging nudge toward the food as Pete loudly points out every difference between this meal and the Christmas dinners he has at home. 

“Like the potatoes,” he says, waving his fork. “Who‘s ever had a Christmas dinner without potatoes?” He smacks Eugene’s arm, making him jump. “You ever had Christmas dinner without potatoes, Sledgehammer?”

Shrugging, Eugene scoops rice onto his fork and takes a bite. 

“Been about two years since I ain’t had anything but rice with a meal, Pete. Times change.” When Pete frowns, Eugene finds it in himself to smile. “Merry Christmas.”

It’s a quiet night. The men crowd together around the bare spot Pete dragged the dried, withered tree branch from and babble excitedly among several bottles of tacky sweet plum wine they’d bought from shops in town. Any talk of family falters and trails off before the subject changes. Eugene feels it again, the distinct desire everyone else has to return home. 

They’re all several drinks in when Burgie starts to talk about Florence. Now that he knows he’s going home soon, he’s trying to plan out a proposal letter. 

“I can’t think of what to say, though,” he tells them, toying with the lip of his bottle. “I’ve never been much of a romantic.”

“Use French,” Shelton blurts from his position lying face up on the floor. He’s quite a bit drunker than Burgie is, and isn’t even looking at him as he talks, instead staring at the overhead. He’s smiling lopsidedly as he tips his bottle back into his mouth. “S’what I always do.”

Eugene snorts without meaning to, but Burgie only glances at him for an instant.

“I dunno any French,” he says pointedly. “And I don’t think that’ll work in a letter, anyhow.” Shelton laughs at him, taking another swig as Burgie grumbles, “I ain’t gonna take courtship advice from you, anyway, Snafu.”

Rooting for a cigarette, Shelton says under his breath, “Might wanna ask Gene if you’re lookin’ for the standard sap shit.”

Snafu’s voice had been quiet, too soft to really carry, but Eugene’s heartbeat suddenly fills his ears, pounding heavily enough that he’s sure everyone else can hear it. Burgie looks up, white-faced, and clears his throat. Shelton, finally, drops his unlit cigarette in his lap.

Pete, the only other one who seems to have heard, rolls his eyes with a snort when Shelton grapples for his cigarette. Eugene can feel sweat roll down his back. One of the boots sitting farther from Shelton asks, “Who’s the sap?”

“Me,” Pete answers quickly, smirking. “Out of all of y’all I’m the only one gettin’ pussy these days, after all.”

Despite the mask of pure terror on Shelton’s face, he laughs, somewhat hysterical as the tension vanishes and the subject changes. Relief floods so abruptly through Eugene’s body he feels lightheaded. The others all move on to groaning at Pete’s terrible joke, but Burgie grabs Eugene’s arm. 

“Get him to bed,” he hisses, too quiet for even Eugene to really hear. “And by that, I mean sleep it the fuck off. Do you understand me?”

Eugene nods, the back of his neck hot. When he gets to his feet he’s dizzy with a mix of alcohol and nervous energy, and stumbles a little when grabbing Shelton’s wrist. “C’mon, Snaf,” he says quickly, “Before you set your own ass on fire.”

It’s effort to hoist Shelton to his feet and drag him into the bunk. Drunk and clumsy, Shelton falls against Eugene as he moves to close the door, throwing them both hard against the door to slam it shut. Eugene gasps, and Shelton is climbing on him, breathing heavy on his neck. 

“Merriell,” Eugene huffs, only halfway attempting to push him off. “Burgie said to sleep it off. He’s — he’s pretty burned up from what — what you said.”

“Mhm,” Shelton answers absently, hands skating quick and light up Eugene’s shirt to pull it over his head. Eugene feels guilty for letting him. 

“What about you? You liked it, didn’t you?”

Still pinned against the door and too tipsy to lie, Eugene only manages, “Huh?”

“You like everyone knowin’ what we up to. S’why you gave me —” Shelton trails off, looking at his hands for a moment. “Give it back. I want — ain’t no one around.”

Eugene’s stomach flips. They should go to bed. Sleep it off. But Shelton’s forgotten himself enough to ask for the ring without the slightest hint of embarrassment, and it’s enough to make Eugene melt. His hands are shaking when he tugs it off his own finger and pushes it onto Shelton’s. Shelton flexes his hand and smiles at it.

“You love me,” he says proudly, voice slurring. 

Eugene nods.

“Say it,” Shelton orders, and Eugene feels warmth spread out from the pit of his stomach.

“I love you.”

Trembling, Shelton’s hands cup Eugene’s neck, metal of the ring firm and cool against his skin. 

“Say it,” he breathes against Eugene’s mouth, the sharp tang of wine on his breath. 

“I love you,” Eugene repeats, not even an inch from Shelton’s lips.

He’s dizzy, moving without being fully aware of how or where until he notices Shelton’s feet leading them toward the nearest rack. Fingernails scratch gently over the nape of his neck, warm and sturdy, before Shelton drops to sit on the cot. 

Shaking his head, Eugene tries, “We — we gotta —”

“Be quiet,” Shelton finishes, tugging Eugene’s head down in a kiss. 

It works like flipping a switch in his head. Calming. Burgie’s orders vanish from his mind to make room for Shelton’s. Eugene nods, kneeling at Shelton’s feet. Shelton’s eyes are wide and bright as he watches, mistified. He runs his thumb over Eugene’s mouth, and Eugene parts his lips.

He feels the ring move against his cheek, and his eyes slide shut. Shelton’s voice sounds closer than it is when he speaks.

“On your back, kitten.”

The air leaves Eugene in a rush as he scrambles to lie back. The nickname makes him whine, soft at the back of his throat. It’s something guys back home would call their girlfriends. Something young husbands call their wives. 

He doesn’t open his eyes. Only seconds pass before he can feel Shelton kneeling over him, breath hot on his face.

“Gene,” he whispers, brushing his nose along Eugene’s jaw. “Say it again.”

“I love you, Merriell,” Eugene whispers, words falling on top of each other as he exhales it all on one breath. “I love you. I lo —” Shelton’s fingers slide nimble into the waist of his dungarees, springing the buttons open to run his fingers along his cock. It rips the words from Eugene’s throat as he realizes the hand around his cock is wearing his father’s ring.

Neither of them speak while Shelton jerks him off, but when he drops Eugene’s cock, Eugene whines.

“Merriell, please —”

“Shh,” is the hushed response against his ear. “I’m gonna fuck you,” Shelton purrs, “if you promise to be quiet for me.”

Eugene swallows, nodding. The hand wearing the ring is planted next to Eugene’s head for support as Shelton prepares him, gentle and slow, with his other hand. It still feels strange, doing it this way. Eugene feels too full and oddly tense. When Shelton moves his fingers, it makes Eugene’s head swim, stretching him open without breaking eye contact. Eugene stays quiet as long as he can, but his voice finally wrenches hard from his chest when Shelton brushes tentatively against the sensitive nerves inside him. When Shelton finally does pull his hand away, shifting Eugene into his lap, the hand positioned by Eugene’s head closes around his throat.

“Gotta keep you quiet,” he murmurs, voice close. Eugene’s eyes roll back as Shelton pushes him down onto his cock. It feels like too much, as if he’s going to split open. Whining, Eugene grabs for Shelton’s hair, letting him position Eugene how he wants. His eyes stay trained on Eugene’s face, searching for something. 

He’s not sure what it is, but Eugene nods, anyway. He wants to give it to him, whatever he’s looking for. Whatever he wants. 

“I love you,” he whispers again, unprompted.

“Shh,” Shelton answers as he starts to move. 

Eugene just nods, because it feels right. Shelton had told him to stay quiet, and he should. His eyes fall out of focus as Shelton thrusts into him. The whole world seems to narrow down to only what Shelton can touch. He won’t speak again without permission. Only what Shelton wants him to say, only when he wants him to say it. 

Shelton, however, must find the silence too harsh. 

“Love you too, Gene,” he says after a moment, his thumb brushing calmingly over the line of Eugene’s jaw as he pushes into him. “I love you, too.”

The words make Eugene’s bones turn to water. His vision starts to blur and he tilts his head back, where Shelton forces it. His legs feel numb when he tries to move them, dropping one limply against Shelton’s back. 

Shelton groans, biting down hard on his own lip as he pushes deeper into Eugene. Eugene’s gasping for air but it’s gone too thin in the barracks. His vision has faded white around the edges, and every nerve feels like pins and needles. 

“Look at me, kitten.”

The sweet little nickname is like fire in his blood. He’s the only one Shelton would ever do that for. Like a wife. Like a pet. 

Shelton’s hands hold him still, tilting his head to keep eye contact. “You hear me, don’t you, _cher?_ You know.”

Eugene nods again, understanding. He knows. Shelton loves him. Loves him more than anything. But they have to stay quiet. He gasps, trying to hold his breath as Shelton’s rhythm becomes erratic. 

It’s only an instant before Shelton’s grip on his throat tightens. The unyielding metal of his father’s ring squeezes hard into Eugene’s throat. He can’t breathe, and tears prickle at the corners of his eyes as he struggles to force air into his lungs.

The ring is hard metal warmed to Shelton’s skin, and it feels distinctly like a brand. 

Eugene had owned it once. He wonders if Shelton had felt like this, as if Eugene owned him with a simple touch. He doubts it. Before the ring had only been jewelry on Eugene’s hand. Now it’s different. Now it means something.

The hand at Eugene’s throat doesn’t release. Shelton continues to drive forward as he loses track of himself. They’ve both stopped speaking, the only sounds coming from Eugene are desperate gulps for air as Shelton moves faster. 

“Gene,” Shelton whispers under his breath.

It sounds like a plea, and Eugene knows what he wants. “I love you,” Eugene says again for the countless time, voice taut against the pressure on his throat. 

Shelton’s head sags forward onto Eugene’s shoulder. The ring is still pressed hard into his throat almost assuredly leaving a mark and Shelton doesn’t say anything, so Eugene doesn’t stop. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you.”

He feels nails in his skin, and breath against his neck and he’d do anything to stay like this. Safe and protected in this world where nothing really matters, where the war both is and isn’t over, and home is still some far off notion. 

The ring seems impossibly hotter than Shelton’s skin now, as if it’s burning into Eugene’s neck. The grip on Eugene’s throat is too tight to breathe, and within an instant everything beyond this moment has disappeared. Even the room around them has faded to obscurity. All that’s left is Shelton, eyes trained on his, dark and intense. Eugene’s heart freezes in his chest. Shelton is all Eugene has.

The ring is scalding against his throat.

Suddenly, it’s sickening. It’s too much. He gasps, desperate, and his nails clawing into Shelton’s back. He says something, raw and muted against the push of Shelton’s hand. He’s not sure what comes out of his mouth, and from the look on his face, neither is Shelton.

There’s a terror in his chest that’s blacking out his vision, and he’s starting to get frantic. This is going to end and they’re going to return home and Eugene will be left alone with nothing. When Eugene tries to speak again, only a wounded yelp bursts out of him. 

It must be some kind of line, because Shelton’s spine goes ramrod straight and he rips his hand away from Eugene’s throat, scrambling off of him. Air fills Eugene’s lungs so fast it makes his head spin, suddenly exposed and empty. The cold hits his naked skin like ice, and he sits up like a shot to reach for Shelton. 

“Don’t —”

It’s not until he speaks that he’s aware of his body again. He’s crying hard enough that he’s shaking. He grabs for Shelton’s arm, tugging at his wrist, but Shelton is pulled tense . 

“Don’t — don’t…” he’s not sure what he wants to say. It doesn’t matter. Nothing comes out but heaving sobs. 

Shelton is gaping at him, absolutely panicked. He doesn’t move, and Eugene’s heart feels as if it’s going to burst. Feeling cornered, Eugene lets go of Shelton and curls into himself, wrapping his arms around his chest to clothe himself. The movement seems to finally snap Shelton out of his daze. He bows forward and cups Eugene’s face, carefully, as if he’s made of glass. 

“What — did I — you hurt?”

Shaking his head miserably, Eugene mumbles, “No.”

The alcohol still has Shelton too rattled for Eugene’s answer to make sense. “Then what’s the matter with you?” he asks before he seems to realize how it sounds. “I was — you scared the devil outta me, Sledgehammer.”

“I’m sorry,” Eugene answers back, his voice strained. 

The ring is hard and warm against his cheek, and Eugene’s not sure if it makes it better or worse to feel it there when it drags slick in the tears on his skin. He starts to sob again when Shelton presses his forehead to Eugene’s.

“Gene, baby, it’s alright,” he hears murmured low under Shelton’s breath. “Shh, it’s okay, look at me.”

He’s barely an inch from Eugene’s face when Eugene finally opens his eyes. 

“That’s it,” Shelton says gently, kissing his cheeks, “It’s okay, _cher_ , I’m right here. It’s — it’s fine.”

Eugene shakes his head, but he’s not sure why. He feels the need to disagree on principle. This is not fine. He can feel Shelton trembling and tries to move, to pull Shelton to his chest or drape the wool blanket over him, but Shelton only holds him still. 

“You’re okay, Gene. It’s okay.”

It doesn’t sound okay. Shelton’s voice is shaky and terrified, and Eugene feels sick to his stomach. He drops his head onto Shelton’s collarbone and wills his breathing to slow. Fingers are in his hair before he can lift his head up again. He expects Shelton to say something, to ask what the hell that even was, but he stays silent.

As they sit there, unmoving, Eugene becomes aware of the uncomfortable pressure low in his stomach. He hadn’t come, and neither had Shelton. Neither of them are still hard, but it must leave Shelton twice as antsy as it left Eugene. 

“I’m — I’m sorry,” he says again breathlessly. “I don’t — I don’t know…”

Shelton touches him, but the metal of the ring is unsettling, and Eugene pushes his hand away. His hand hangs limply in the air for a moment as Shelton tries to process what’s happening. 

Blinking slowly, he asks, “Gene? You — you alright?”

Eugene nods, curling into Shelton’s lap. Shelton doesn’t seem to know if he should touch him. His arms splay out awkwardly as he lets Eugene’s weight sink into his chest. 

“I — I didn’t hurt you?”

“No,” Eugene insists, miserable whine to his voice belying his words. “I just —”

He doesn’t finish, and Shelton lets it slide for a long drag of silence. Eugene leans heavy against Shelton, sniffling quietly to himself. 

Shelton drops his hand gently on Eugene’s shoulder and finally asks, “Wanna tell me what — what happened? You scared the shit out of me.”

The last thing Eugene wants to do is talk about this. It’s terrifying enough realizing it on his own. He doesn’t want Shelton to know. 

“I — I don’t wanna go home,” he says finally, and Shelton sighs.

“Gene —”

“Not —” shutting his eyes tight, he finishes in a rush, “Not without you.”

The grip Shelton has on Eugene’s shoulder goes tight. Eugene’s mouth is dry and he shakes his head. He means to take it back, to change what he’s said, but now that he’s said it he can’t stop.

“I can’t do it without you, Merriell. I — I can’t. I don’t — I don’t know how to go back.” 

Shelton is silent, and Eugene can feel his father’s ring pressing into his shoulder. He reaches up to run his fingers over Shelton’s hand, and it seems to startle him back to the present.

“Gene, you — you don’t...know what you’re askin’.”

“I do —” Eugene starts, but Shelton talks over him.

“It ain’t like here,” he insists again, “No one cares here. They cut us slack for fightin’ together and whatnot. Back home, family got shit to say.”

“You did it,” Eugene points out, “You said you had the Navy boys in New Orleans… nobody cared then, either.”

“Back home ain’t like ‘Bama,” he says quietly. “Ain’t nobody knows you at the docks, Gene. Nobody cared ‘cause nobody knew. Nobody looks at you twice in a city like that.”

“You —”

“Back home my old man ain’t some fancy town doctor. Back home I ain’t got the whole town on my Christmas card list. Hell, I ain’t even know if the pastor’s _got_ a daughter, let alone her name. You know all that, don’t you? In ‘Bama, if people saw you with me, they’d know.”

He’s right, but Eugene shakes his head anyway. 

“We don’t have to stay in Mobile,” he says desperately. He’s humiliated, begging, can still feel tears rolling down his face. “We don’t even have to stay in Alabama. We can just — we can just disappear somewhere. Stay on the train home til it stops for good.”

“Gene…”

The silence returns and the room is suffocating. Shelton’s hands are petting at his hair, rocking Eugene gently against his chest. He hasn’t said anything other than quiet shushing noises, and all Eugene has managed is quiet sobs. 

“It can’t… be like this, Eugene. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

The memory of their fight on the beach in Okinawa flashes through his head, the unexpected pain in his chest when Shelton’s voice brittle and cold told him _“It ain’t never gonna count.”_ He wonders now if he’d loved Shelton from the start. Not for the first time, he wonders how long Shelton has loved him.

Eugene hasn’t said anything in so long he’s forgotten he could. Wildly, he braves asking, “How long have you been telling yourself that?”

Shelton clicks his tongue. “I — it ain’t about that.”

He’s infuriating. It’s never about the things Shelton doesn’t want to admit, doesn’t want to talk about. It’s only ever about the reasons to say no. 

Shoving him, Eugene hisses, “Bullshit it’s not about that! It’s about whatever the hell I say it is!” 

There’s no fight in Shelton. He goes easily, arms falling from Eugene, and it makes him seem pathetic and small. It’s not fair for it to be like this. 

“You tell me it wasn’t supposed to be like this? What — what were you expecting when you — ?” He hasn’t wanted to bring this up. Like some sort of sneak attack on Shelton’s character after all this time. “The night Hamm got shot —”

“Eugene…” 

He sounds hurt enough that Eugene feels a pang of guilt before continuing, eyes on his lap as they fill with tears again. “You kissed me. Nothing — nothing else. All you did was kiss me.”

“Gene, I was...”

Eugene waits, breathing hard, but Shelton doesn’t finish. “You were what?” he asks finally, torn between timid and determined. “Scared? Of what? Dying? Of me dying? Was it something else?”

Shrugging, Shelton rolls his lip between his teeth. “It ain’t a neat little package like that. And you know it.”

“Stop — stop saying what I know. I don’t know what that was. I didn’t — I still don’t. Why’d you kiss me?”

“Gene —”

“Just tell me, Merriell,” he whispers, his words pulled tight. 

Shelton’s not looking at him anymore. It’s not fair that he doesn’t have to keep eye contact. It’s not fair that he gets to avoid this. 

“Whatever you want is always fair game,” he says angrily, shoving his shoulder again. “ _I’m_ always fair game. Why’s it the minute — the minute I want a Goddamn thing you don’t even care anymore?” 

When Shelton doesn’t say anything, Eugene grabs his arm and tugs hard enough to make him look up. 

“I guess it’s like you said. That’s all I’m good for, right? Fuckin’ you?”

The reaction Shelton has is surprisingly visceral. He snatches a handful of Eugene’s hair and rips him down. “No,” he says sharply. “That ain’t — that ain’t right.” His eyes are trained on Eugene’s face. “I’m a fuckin’ idiot, alright? That ain’t never been right.”

It stirs something deep in Eugene’s chest, and he blinks back tears to keep staring back at Shelton. “If that’s true, then tell me why you kissed me.”

His eyes fall from Eugene’s face to just above his shoulder. Clearing his throat, he grumbles, “It was almost you, remember?”

Before Eugene can respond, Shelton shakes his head. When he meets Eugene’s eyes again, he looks exhausted. Eugene recalls standing right where Hamm had stood moments before the shots fired, before Shelton had pulled him to the ground. Eugene’s eyes drop to his hands. 

“Just knew it couldn’t be you,” Shelton says firmly, “Understand?” Lump hard in his throat, Eugene nods, and Shelton nods back. “I ain’t had a clue about it, then.”

For a moment, Eugene doesn’t know what to say. He nods again, but Shelton doesn’t say anything else. They’re quiet for a moment before the tension in Eugene’s chest finally gets too hard to breathe. When he opens his mouth, the words come spilling out.

“Please,” Eugene begs him, voice soft and shaken. The ache in his throat is making it hard to speak. “ _Please._ Please don’t leave me to do it alone. I can’t — I _can’t._ It’ll do me in. I can’t go home. I can’t do it without you.”

Shelton’s face is impassive, big eyes watching. 

“You love me.” Eugene clings to it because what else can he do. “You — you do. That… I know that. You don’t want to leave me.”

Nervously chewing at his lip, Shelton takes Eugene’s face in his hands. The ring is cold on Eugene’s skin, but when he flinches, Shelton holds him tight, shushing him like a spooked horse. Wiping Eugene’s tears with his thumbs, he takes a long, deep breath and sighs. 

“This ain’t as easy as you want it,” he says firmly. 

He’s not angry. He sounds more frightened than anything. It hadn’t been that long since the last time this had come up, and things had gone differently. Shelton had been frightened then, too. Maybe more. Eugene tries to control his breathing before answering. 

“I know,” he says finally, “I know that. I just — it…” He’s afraid to say it, in case he’s wrong, but it falls from his mouth anyway. “It’s worth it, isn’t it?”

The look on Shelton’s face goes slack. For some reason, after everything, he’s shocked by the question. He squints at Eugene for a moment.

“You — you willin’ to put up with all that trouble? For me?”

Eugene nods, surprised that it’s even still a question. Shelton doesn’t react right away, and Eugene hopes the look on his face is close enough to the resemblance of a smile. 

“I like trouble.”

With a groan, Shelton rolls his eyes skyward before dropping them back to Eugene’s face. “Birds of a fuckin’ feather, I guess.” 

Hiccupping, Eugene swallows back his tears and watches Shelton’s face change. He’s thinking, worried. He should be, Eugene knows that. But they could do this, he knows they can. Silence drags on for seconds that feel like the ones back on Okinawa, dark little hours of terror in disguise. Finally, Shelton frowns, shakes his head, and Eugene’s heart sinks.

“We’d gotta move to someplace big.” Shelton says it with such flat conviction it takes Eugene a moment to realize that what he’s saying isn’t a no. “Real big. Not like you’re used to. Think you can handle bein’ a city boy?”

Eugene laughs, the wet, hysterical laugh of someone still in the middle of crying. When he nods, Shelton smiles at him. It’s nervous and unsure, but honest enough that Eugene feels the weight drop from his shoulders like a lead vest to the ground.

All things considered, Eugene’s not sure he can handle moving to a big city. He can barely handle the idea of going home to Mobile. Peking sent him into a panic when they first arrived. But it doesn’t matter. Eugene won’t let it. If that’s what it takes for Shelton to be with him, he’s willing to do it. He leans forward and kisses Shelton’s mouth. The kiss is slick and wet with tears, but Shelton pulls him close as he can.

“This is fuckin’ stupid,” Shelton mumbles, dragging Eugene back onto the cot as he kisses down his neck, “We’re so fuckin’ stupid.”

Eugene nods, curling into him. Shelton’s hands are shaking, and Eugene knows there’s more to it than just saying it. But it doesn’t have to matter now. Shelton would stay with him. Eugene never has to go home, never has to be alone. For now, that’s enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the South Pacific, Christmas comes in June. Heehee. Halfway point means peak honeymoon phase. \o/


	11. Chapter 11

From then on, Shelton sleeps on his back, arms wrapped tight around Eugene against the winter cold, keeping him snug against his chest. On the nights Shelton can’t sleep, Eugene fades in and out of consciousness to the off-key singing of tunes he’s starting to recognize, but still doesn’t understand. Shelton wears his ring at night and slides it back onto Eugene’s finger every morning after roll call sounds.

Now, when the men talk of home, Shelton will touch him. Something brief and light, something unnoticeable, like bumping his knee under the table, or tapping his shoulder to ask for a light. 

At first, Eugene’s not even sure Shelton realizes himself, but then one evening they’re drinking in the nearby bar in town with Pete, Burgie, and several others from K Company when the conversation turns. They’ve all had a long day of drills, and once one of the boots mentions his girl back home they all start going on about their own sweethearts. When Burgie starts to talk about Florence the others all chime in with their two cents on how he should propose. 

Shelton, gone uncharacteristically quiet, reaches under the table and runs his hand over Eugene’s leg.

Eugene glances at him, but Shelton’s eyes are forward on his beer. There’s a hint of a smile on his face for just a moment, but it’s gone by the time his hand slides back into his own lap. A nervous flutter rumbles in Eugene’s stomach. He twists the ring on his finger before going back to his own beer.

The more it flusters Eugene, the more Shelton takes it as encouragement. Every mention of some Marine’s girl back home seems to entice Shelton into pushing the limits of what the other men will pretend not to notice, or what Burgie will reluctantly let slide. Gibbons getting a letter from his sweetheart back home finds Shelton’s nails scratched light over the back of Eugene’s neck. Redifer waxing poetic about a childhood crush he hasn’t seen since the war gets Shelton’s hand rolling brazenly up his knee. Pete nagging Burgie about Florence gets his fingers running briefly through fiery hair. 

Eugene, to his own shame, is torn between wanting to scold Shelton to be more discreet and relishing the attention. 

The touches goes from quick and faint to distinct and overtly affectionate, waiting until his hands are hidden under tables or covered by shadows to slide deft fingers under Eugene’s PT shirt, or dragging his thumb along Eugene’s inner thigh. More than once he’s leaned in close, pretending to whisper something in Eugene’s ear just to press lips to his skin.

It steals the breath from Eugene’s lungs, to be that wanted. They’re never too far from the other K Company men, but Shelton seems to care less and less about being caught as they get closer to rotating home. It’s almost as if he wants to be. 

China, oddly, doesn’t celebrate the new year on the first of January. It makes even the passing of time feel foreign to Eugene when he counts and recounts his tallies as December slowly ends. The last of the month is just another day to the locals, but inside the barracks the rice wine flows cheaper and faster than any champagne ever has. The men all huddle around the grandfather clock in their dimly lit common hall, leaning heavily on each other as they become too drunk to stand.

“To the end of our last year away from home, gentlemen!” one of the men shout excitedly, waving his half-empty bottle in the air. 

Everyone cheers and clinks their bottles together loudly in response, even Shelton and Eugene. Now that home is wherever they want it to be, wherever they decide to live, it doesn’t seem so daunting. If Eugene is honest with himself, he hasn’t felt away from home in months.

A few of the men are playing cards on the floor while they wait for the midnight hour to close in. Shelton sits down next to Pete with a bottle in hand and hollers, “Deal me in, boys, I feel pretty fuckin’ lucky this year.”

“It’s only Go Fish, Snafu,” Burgie laughs, but he deals him in, regardless. 

Eugene watches fondly as Shelton leans over and whispers something in Pete’s ear. 

Laughing, Pete takes the bottle from out of Shelton’s lap and says, “Six months ago I’d’ve popped you for that.” He glances at the clock as he takes a swig from Shelton’s bottle. It’s a long gulp before he pulls it away from his mouth and adds, “You _must_ be fuckin’ lucky, Snaf.”

Eugene’s not really interested in whatever dirty joke Shelton told Pete, who’s now repeating it under his breath to Redifer. He’s more focused on how they’re all crowded cross-legged on the floor, happy and at ease after all that time at war, and how they don’t have much longer to stay like this before they all go their separate ways. Shelton glances back at him and smiles.

Not all of them, Eugene reminds himself.

Off-key renditions of Auld Lang Syne echo off the brick and plaster walls as the minute hand on the clock face closes in on midnight. Giggly and drunk, the men start to chant their countdown far too early, and Eugene can barely stand for laughing when they start at ten again for the fourth time. 

When the clock finally does strike twelve, Pete catches everyone’s attention by grabbing Redifer around the waist and dipping him low into a ridiculously theatrical kiss. The men all whoop and clap, hysterical. Eugene cranes his neck to see though all the commotion, standing along the outside edge of the mob with Shelton, but Shelton seems to be the only one not concerned with what Pete and Redifer are doing. 

He jerks Eugene’s arm to get his attention and pops onto the balls of his feet to kiss Eugene while no one else is looking.

When he pulls away, leaving Eugene beet red and gaping, he laughs. 

“I — I asked Fouts a favour,” Shelton says in the slurred, loud voice of someone who’s lost count of their drinks. “‘Cause I — I wanted to…”

He looks as if he’s about to kiss Eugene again, but Pete and Redifer have righted themselves, cackling madly, and Eugene grabs Shelton’s arms to hold him still. 

“Lord Almighty, I’ve made you into quite a sap,” he says with a bit of a tremble to his voice. “You want me as big-headed as you are, Shelton?”

Shelton’s response is a lopsided grin.

There’s a sudden clap over their shoulders that makes Eugene curse, looking up to see Burgie standing next to them. Eugene wonders how long he’s been there, if he saw.

“Roll call’s at 0500, same as always, boys,” Burgie tells them, his voice unnervingly firm. “Best all get off to bed now so you gotta chance at sleepin’ it off.”

Everyone is herded off to their bunks. When Eugene and Shelton start toward their room, Burgie’s grip on Eugene’s shoulder tightens to hold him back. 

“Can I talk to you a minute there, Sledge?” 

Eugene feels his heart shrink and Shelton stops to glance back. He meets Burgie’s eyes and then Eugene’s before nervously turning back down the hallway to the bunk alone.

Eugene watches him go before glancing up at Burgie. “What’s, uh, what is it?” He’s reminded starkly of Burgie’s rank over him and adds hastily, “Sir?”

For what feels like an age, Burgie’s eyes don’t meet Eugene’s, trained instead on Shelton until he turns a corner and disappears from view. When he finally looks at Eugene, his eyes are just glassy enough from wine for Eugene to breathe easy. He’s not in trouble, at least not tonight. If Burgie saw them kiss, he doesn’t care.

“Look, I’m wondering, I just…” Burgie takes a deep breath and lets it out like a sigh through his teeth. “Are you alright?”

Squinting, Eugene takes a moment to understand. Even then, it doesn’t make sense. “Wh— what?”

Burgie tisks, frustrated at Eugene’s confusion, but doesn’t try to elaborate. His shoulders sag, defeated, and he sucks at his teeth. He glances back in the direction Shelton disappeared to, and doesn’t try to meet Eugene’s eyes again. He scratches awkwardly at the back of his neck with one hand and gestures with the other, rolling his wrist. 

“Snafu is — is he… you’re okay?” 

Just as it starts to dawn on Eugene what he’s asking, Burgie clicks his tongue. 

“Look, it’s just that— Snafu has a way of getting whatever he wants. I’m just making sure that’s… fine. With you.”

If he were a little more sober, Eugene would laugh, maybe even chide Burgie for checking up on him like he’s still a recruit fresh out of boot camp, frightened by the far-off sound of gunfire at night. But the rice wine makes the words twist in his stomach and bloom red over the back of his neck. He feels like a child with a broken curfew. His eyes fall to the ground.

The memory of Burgie finding him alone and distraught on that Okinawan beach springs to mind, the way he had sat several feet away from Eugene and carefully prodded about his well-being. It makes Eugene wonder just how long Burgie has worried about this.

“It’s — it’s fine,” Eugene says finally. He opens his mouth to add that it’s not only that, that it has also mostly been his idea, but something locks his jaw back tight. He nods to drive his point home before looking back at Burgie. “It’s fine.”

It’s hard to tell if the sigh Burgie lets out is more relieved or exasperated. He nods, clapping his hand assuringly back on Eugene’s shoulder. 

“Okay,” he says before dropping his hand back to his side. It only really seems to hit him a moment later, when he rolls his eyes and runs his hand through his hair. “ _Jesus._ Okay.” 

They stand there staring blankly at each other for a moment, neither quite sure what to do next, before Burgie waves him off. 

“Okay. Get… go. You can go now.”

A nervous laugh bubbles out of Eugene and he turns on his heel, darting down to the barracks before Burgie can change his mind and question him further. When he makes it to the bunk Shelton sitting on the edge of the rack, bouncing his knees nervously and clicking the lid on his lighter open and shut. When Eugene shuts the door behind himself, Shelton drops the lighter with a skittering clatter.

Eugene watches it fall, but Shelton doesn’t.

“What was that all about?” Shelton demands with a little too much drunken solemnity.

Shrugging, Eugene tries to find a way to phrase it that won’t seem cruel to Shelton. It’s difficult, and he’s suddenly more sympathetic to Burgie’s half-hearted mumbling. 

“He wanted to make sure, uh… he wanted to make sure we were… happy. I think.”

Shelton blinks. He looks like he doesn’t believe him, for a moment. “Happy,” he repeats, like it’s a foreign concept. Eugene shrugs again. 

With a raise of his eyebrows, Shelton snorts. “So… so, what then? Did you tell him you’re havin’ me make an honest woman outta you?”

It makes Eugene giggle somewhat hysterically, and the corner of Shelton’s mouth quirks up, proud of himself. 

“Would’ve figured it’d be obvious, the way he’s always snappin’ at us,” he adds softly as he leans forward to kiss Eugene’s neck. He takes Eugene’s hand, clumsy with alcohol, and tugs the ring from his finger. “Maybe we gettin’ too good at hidin’ about it.”

“You — you just kissed me in front of the whole damn company,” Eugene says, feeling something light and nervous sweep in his stomach as he remembers. Shelton props his temple against Eugene’s shoulder, watching so that he doesn’t have to guide the ring blindly onto his own hand.

“And no one fuckin’ noticed,” he points out, voice low.

He sounds as if he’s starting to buy into what he’s saying, so Eugene cuffs the back of his head. “I think we’re pushing it plenty already, Merriell.”

“Says you,” Shelton answers with a hint of a laugh. 

His fingers trace light over Eugene’s throat and he drags him back from the wall. Eugene wants to argue, but Shelton is loose and warm and grinning and maybe Eugene doesn’t want to argue that much. All he manages is to fall back into their cot, Shelton’s arms draped over his neck.

In the new year it becomes a game to Shelton, touching Eugene in public. He’s testing the limits with an eager vigor. No longer just when the company starts to speak of home, but any time he wants to. Pressed close against Eugene’s thigh as they sit together in the mess hall or leaning on him sleepily in roll call every morning become minor things. 

Shelton uses his broken lighter as an excuse to always borrow Eugene’s, snatching it directly from his hand or even rooting through his pockets for it whenever he wants a smoke. It will be the middle of the day when he’ll pull Eugene away to press him against the rough brick of the barracks building and kiss him, long and sweet. The closer they are to locals or other men in the company, the more it seems to egg Shelton on.

Part of Eugene is petrified. He still has the dread of being caught, the anxiety he’s had since they were in Okinawa, the unshakeable thought that they’ll be seen, turned in, jailed, court martialed, or worse. But the voice at the back of Eugene’s mind that keeps him scared is only getting fainter each time Shelton drags him away. They don’t have much longer until it will be gone completely.

Eugene still keeps his father’s ring on during the day, but it’s obvious there are times Shelton wants to take it from him. When he laces his fingers with Eugene’s while they kiss in the alley behind the nearby bar and squeezes hard at the base of his fingers, or when he cups Eugene’s hand and rolls his thumb over the ring as he kisses Eugene’s shoulder.

The terrified part of Eugene should be larger. He knows that, he does. He knew that when he first confessed Shelton he’d rather stay with him, a coward and a disserter, classified UA in China, than go home alone. He knew before then, when Shelton shoved him into an empty tent on Okinawa and whispered for him to make good on a promise he never meant to keep. 

In reality, the scariest thing for Eugene is realizing he’s never been as scared as he should be.

“You know,” Shelton whispers in his ear one afternoon, sun still visible along the skyline of the city as he pushes Eugene flat against the back wall of a noodle house. “It’s gonna be _my_ birthday soon. Any thought to what you’re gonna get me?”

He punctuates his question with a soft nip at Eugene’s throat, and it forces a long breath of air to rush out of Eugene’s lungs.

“Jesus, Merriell,” he says with an attempt at humor, “I already got you a wife, what more do you want?”

“Pack of smokes’d be nice,” he answers. Eugene can feel his toothy grin against his neck. 

He’s pressed tight and hot against Eugene, hands sliding along his ribs over his coat. It feels like the sun is directly overhead, burning Eugene’s skin. The lack of space between them is making Eugene dizzy, and all he does is nod.

“Whatever you want,” he mumbles, face going pink. He doesn’t realize what he’s said until he feels Shelton freeze. 

A breath escapes against Eugene’s neck, and he says, “Say again?”

Cocky bastard.

“Whatever you want, Merriell,” he repeats, smiling when Shelton kisses low on his neck.

“Well, shit,” Shelton says, hands dragging down his sides, “If you gonna gimme whatever I want, a pack of smokes ain’t gonna cut it.”

There’s no one around. They’re crammed close in the back alley of the shop, barely two men can fit to walk abreast between the walls of buildings and the tall wooden fence separating them from the road. No one is going to find them back here. But there’s still light on the horizon and the sounds of the busy street just yards away. When Shelton shoves his pants open, it’s all Eugene can do not to shout in surprise.

Before he even has the chance, Shelton has a hand over his mouth. He watches Eugene a moment, eyes dark, before finally speaking.

“Gonna gimme what I want, there, Sledge?”

He moves his fingers from over Eugene’s mouth to give him a chance to speak. Heart pounding, Eugene jokes weakly, “Ain’t your birthday, yet.”

“Oh? And how you know that?” Shelton asks with a smirk.

“‘Cause you’d’ve made sure we all heard about it before it was half over, smartass.”

Shelton raises his eyebrows. “I’m a smartass, now? Not a nice thing to call a man on his birthday, Gene.”

Forcing himself to roll his eyes, Eugene responds, “I’ll keep your manners in mind.”

“See that you do,” Shelton says with a grin before slipping his hand past the waist of Eugene’s dungarees.

“Merriell, _Christ_ —” Eugene starts, but Shelton cuts him off, clapping his free hand back over Eugene’s mouth.

It makes Shelton laugh, a nervous, bubbly breath of air every time Eugene swears. He leaves one hand tight over Eugene’s mouth as he brings the other up to his own lips to spit onto his palm. Eugene balks, but Shelton’s fingers are slick when they wind back around Eugene’s cock, and he melts instantly into the touch.

After everything they’ve done, something about Shelton touching him this way again feels strangely innocent. His attention is focused entirely on Eugene, working his fingers until Eugene feels a shudder of arousal course through him. The distant chattering of people just beyond them starts to fade. A breeze blows past them, hard enough into the tight space to whistle as it goes. It’s startlingly cold, and Eugene’s hands fly up to drag Shelton closer.

Smiling, Shelton lets the hand over Eugene’s mouth drop down to cup his neck. It’s so soft and oddly sweet, and Eugene reaches up to wrap his fingers around Shelton’s wrist. The sun has dipped low enough that Eugene had almost forgotten where they are. It sends a spike of humiliation up his spine to remember, hot and rigid. When his eyes fall closed, he hears Shelton’s voice bring him back in an instant.

“Look at me, Gene.”

Eyes open, Shelton’s watching, lip between his teeth as if he’s nervous. The touch on Eugene’s skin is so much softer than it is when they’re in the barracks, ready to rip away at any moment. Anyone could find them here. A local. Another Marine. Burgie. Eugene shivers at the thought, and Shelton’s eyes flick up curiously at the movement.

“Gene?”

There’s a lump in Eugene’s throat and he can’t swallow against it. Shelton tilts his head, watching Eugene’s face as he loses composure. 

“Whatever I want?” 

Eugene nods, unable to speak, and Shelton’s mouth twitches, barest hint of a smile. 

“S’at a promise?”

“Yes,” Eugene whines, volume of his voice just out of his control. 

For a split second, Peking around them disappears, replaced instead with the grey, cold mud of Okinawa, Shelton’s face filthy as he leans in close, and Eugene’s hands fly up to nest in his hair and drag him into a kiss. He screws his eyes shut, hands trembling, and Shelton’s voice is soft against his lips.

“Come for me, _cher._ ”

Eugene falls apart, sagging back against the rough brick wall, until Shelton has to pin him with an arm to hold him up. “That’s it, Gene,” he purrs, voice gentle as he pets his face, “That’s it.”

He fixes Eugene up, calmly and carefully tucking him back into his dungarees and straightening his coat back over his waist. Eugene is still coming back to himself when Shelton leans forward to kiss the corner of his mouth. He cups Eugene’s face and watches him blink back. Embarrassed, Eugene clears his throat.

“So, uh —” his voice is raw and far too quiet, and he has to try again, Shelton rapt at attention. “What — what is it you want?”

It’s not meant to be funny, but Shelton laughs. “I’ll think on it,” he tells him finally. “C’mon, _cher,_ up and at ‘em. The boys’ll be wonderin’ where we gone off to.”

Scoffing, Eugene answers, “No, they won’t.”

Months ago, the response would’ve made Shelton quiet and defensive. Now, he only cuffs the side of Eugene’s head, light and playful. “C’mon.”

It’s so different now than it had been when this all started, Eugene is almost able to forget everything that brought them to this point. Everything about the war and the bloodshed, Pavuvu, Peleliu. Dashing across the Death Valley and the airfield, the air reeking of blood and gunpowder. Watching Hamm slump dead at their feet, the Okinawan woman silently begging for Eugene to kill her, all of it seems to fade and blur now. Something unreal, like a dream. Shelton holds Eugene to his chest while they sleep, and sometimes the dreams aren’t as gruesome or vivid. Most mornings, as Shelton slides his father’s ring back onto his hand, he’s able to give Eugene a quick and easy smile. 

As terrifying as it should be, it isn’t. After everything they’ve been through, it just feels possible. Eugene feels it, at the back of his mind. They can be happy. Just like this.

Eugene keeps a perfect count of his tallies as Shelton’s birthday approaches. When the twenty-first is two days away and Shelton still hasn’t given Eugene any clue as to what he wants, Eugene can’t help but wonder if he’s forgotten. He hasn’t mentioned it since their time in the back alley. 

They’re out in the main courtyard, enjoying the easy warmer morning after roll call. Eugene plays no-stakes poker with Burgie, Pete and Redifer under the wide droopy tree beside their handmade boxing ring. He casually watches Shelton and Anderson spar over the brim of his cards in between his turns. Anderson isn’t much bigger than Shelton, and Eugene is surprised to notice they fight almost the same caliber. Quick and slippery, dodging each other’s hits more than landing any of their own. It’s easy to get lost in watching them, until Burgie signals Eugene’s turn with a sharp whistle.

Eugene isn’t watching when Anderson lands his first hard punch. He just hears Shelton swear, loud and shrill, and looks up to see him with his hand to his jaw.

“ _Fuck,_ Anderson,” he says, flicking his tongue over the blood dribbling off his lip. “That’s one helluva left hook on you.”

Anderson doesn’t look up from his knuckles as he flexes them, grazed by Shelton’s teeth. Burgie whistles, and Eugene places a card face down without looking at his hand. He watches Shelton lunge forward, but Anderson blocks with one arm and slams his other fist into Shelton’s ribs. 

Forgetting himself, Eugene cranes his neck to keep his eyes on Shelton, abandoning the pretense of being interested in cards. It’s the first hit that seems to stagger Shelton at all. He stumbles on the back foot before trying to swing for Anderson again. Anderson is too fast, and weaves out of the way. It’s only one miss on his part before he lands a hit squarely on Shelton again. 

Momentum lost, it’s harder for Shelton to avoid the blows any longer, whether it’s the way Anderson’s punches are landing or if it’s simply because of the shots to his ego. Each punch only makes him slow enough for the next. 

With a sigh, Eugene drops his cards to the frosted grass. “I fold.”

“Might as well wait for him to get his ass knocked out. Get yourself some peace and quiet,” Burgie grunts without looking up from his own hand. 

Eugene pretends not to have heard and wanders closer to the ring. He doesn’t call out to Shelton. It would be too obvious. He doesn’t have to say anything at all. He hovers quietly, close enough to the rope, waiting for Shelton to see him.

He doesn’t wait long. It’s another quick knock to his shoulder and a shot to his ribs before Eugene notices Shelton glance over. 

“All right,” Shelton tells Anderson with a smirk, “I give.”

Anderson regards him with a grin and slaps him gamely on the back. “Why don’t you go get ice to stop the bleeding on that lip, Snafu,” he tells him with a wink.

“Yeah, yeah,” Shelton mutters, wiping his mouth absently as his eyes drift back to Eugene for just a moment. “Will do.”

When he ducks under the rope, he grins at Eugene. “What is it?” he says with a cock of his head. “You up next?”

The blood on his lip is starting to drip down his chin. Eugene tisks, clenching his fist to keep from reaching out and wiping it away. 

Shelton laughs. “Worried I’d kick your ass?”

“Right. After a show like that I most certainly am,” Eugene deadpans. It makes Shelton’s smile widen, and his split lip breaks open further. Rolling his eyes, Eugene grumbles, “Get to the damn barracks, Shelton.”

Sweeping his tongue over his lip, smearing blood, Shelton arches his eyebrows and asks, “Or what?”

There’s a bruise already swelling on his side, obscuring the faint scars left months ago by Eugene’s fingernails. His lip is swollen and blood is dripping down his face and he still looks like he’d rather get in a few more good punches than let Eugene patch him up, but Eugene doesn’t care. 

“I’ll let Anderson finish what he started, is what,” he says, shoving at Shelton’s bruised shoulder, “So get.”

Unperturbed, Shelton laughs. Instead of arguing any further, he turns on his heel and starts toward the barracks. Eugene can feel Burgie’s eyes on him, either surprised at Shelton’s compliance or angry with their careless blatancy. Eugene doesn’t want to find out which it is, so he doesn’t look back before following Shelton down the hill and out of sight of the others.

Once inside and on their rack, Eugene straddles Shelton’s hips, pressing a lump of snow wrapped in a shirt to Shelton’s mouth. He jabs a curious knuckle into Shelton’s bruised side, and Shelton jumps back, scowling.

“You’re a shit nurse, Gene.”

“I’m making sure nothing’s broken, you damn baby,” Eugene answers back. Shelton scoffs.

“Anderson’s good, but he ain’t that good,” he says around the wad of cotton and ice. Eugene huffs instead of responding. He checks the shirt for a fresh blood stain before putting it back over Shelton’s lip.

“You ain’t as tough as you think,” Eugene tells him with a click of his tongue. He dabs at Shelton’s mouth a bit more before putting the soggy cloth to Shelton’s ribs.

“Sure,” Shelton answers with a curt nod. He takes Eugene’s hand gently, sliding the ring from his finger. He looks down to slip it onto his own hand and smiles. “But don’t act like you don’t love playin’ doctor with me, afterwards.”

Eugene feels his neck turn red. “Oh, can it.”

“Ain’t a no, is it, Doctor Sledge?”

Air catches audibly in Eugene’s lungs, and he meets Shelton’s eyes in an icy glare. Shelton, proud of himself, only beams back at him. He’s infuriatingly smug, so Eugene moves the shirt away from his bruise to jam a knuckle back into it again. When Shelton yelps, Eugene smirks.

“That’s what you get.”

Shelton sticks out his tongue but falls silent as Eugene presses the dripping shirt back against his skin. He turns his head to watch the snow melt through the cloth and soak messily into his side. Eugene lets the silence sit comfortably for a while. 

When the snow has completely dissolved, leaving behind a drenched shirt, Eugene throws it with a dull _splat_ against the concrete and asks, “Hey, Snaf?”

“Hn?”

“How old are you turning?”

It’s not the question Shelton had expected. He scoffs before rummaging unsuccessfully in the pocket of his dungarees for a cigarette. “Twenty-four.”

Eugene’s not sure if it’s too old or too young, once he hears it. It’s older than Eugene, but after all the bloodshed and suffering, everyone sounds too young. He’s not sure what to say, so he leans forward and kisses Shelton. He pulls back abruptly, and for a moment Eugene’s heart leaps into his throat, but Shelton just smirks at him.

“Ow.”

A smile quirks in the corner of Eugene’s mouth. He reaches for Shelton, cradling his neck. “Are you gonna tell me what you want?” 

Instead of answering, Shelton watches Eugene’s lips as he speaks, getting that predatory look in his eye. When he stops talking, Shelton draws his tongue slowly over the drying blood on his lip. He tucks the unlit cigarette back into his pocket and glances up to meet Eugene’s eyes, contemplating. 

Before Eugene can say anything further, Shelton tugs on the dogtags hanging from Eugene’s throat to pull him into a kiss, pressing his mouth hard against Eugene’s. The coppery taste of blood stings Eugene’s tongue as Shelton’s lip splits back open. Eugene shudders and Shelton groans, his tongue flickering over the seam of Eugene’s mouth. 

“Fuck me,” he says breathlessly against the kiss, and Eugene feels the light flutter in his stomach every time Shelton asks anything of him.

“Is that all?” Eugene asks teasingly, leaning him back against the cot. Shelton shakes his head, wrapping his legs around Eugene’s waist.

“Hurt me.”

Something heavy and hollow seems to drop hard in Eugene’s stomach. Hair prickles at the back of his neck and he leans back to squint down at Shelton’s face. “What?”

“I want —” Shelton’s eyes dart away from Eugene’s, focused just past his face before he repeats himself. “Hurt me.”

As much as Eugene wants to ask again, he doesn’t. He blinks the perplexed look off of his face and nods. Shelton isn’t vulnerable often. Asking for anything at all is rare enough, and Eugene’s not going to risk him changing his mind.

At first, he’s not sure how to go about what Shelton has asked for. Shaky and nervous, he slams him back against the cot and pins Shelton’s arms against the cold metal frame. 

There’s an uneasy roil in the pit of his stomach, but it fades when Shelton whimpers. Heart pounding, Eugene lets go of Shelton’s wrists to jostle his legs off of him and yanks the dungarees down his hips. Shelton’s hand flails up to clench into Eugene’s hair, his father’s ring cold and hard against his temple, and Eugene rips his arm away again, holding it firm against the cot.

The dazed look on Shelton’s face makes Eugene freeze, cold sweat beading at the back of his neck. Time slows down, and Shelton starts to blink back to himself.

“That all you got, kitten?”

Growling, Eugene shoves him out of the cot, sending him sprawling on his back to the floor. Shelton gasps as he hits the cold concrete tile, and Eugene feels a nervous thrill under his skin. He crawls down beside Shelton and flips him onto his stomach.

“ _Shit,_ ” Shelton hisses.

The metal of the ring scrapes loud against the floor as he scrabbles for purchase. Eugene shoves him down, hand flat on his neck and scratches hard over his back. Shelton whines and goes easily; drops to his elbows and lets his head sag limply in between his shoulders. He doesn’t say anything else, falling completely silent as Eugene reaches for the rifle oil beside their lamp. He doesn’t move as Eugene slicks his fingers, but when he starts to prepare Shelton, Shelton scoffs.

“You can be rougher’n that. Know you can.”

It feels as if Eugene’s heart is in his throat. He does as Shelton asks, tension uncoiling from the pleased little noises that come from Shelton’s mouth. When he pulls his hand away, he digs his fingers into the purpling bruise on Shelton’s side to hold him still, and Shelton goes limp in his grip. He’s like a ragdoll, and Eugene feels uncomfortably powerful. He forces Shelton down and pushes into him in one fluid motion, stomach twisting at the quiet moan Shelton lets out in response. It seems too callous this way, removed. Shelton asked for it to hurt, but not to be mean. Eugene doesn’t want to be mean. He drapes himself over Shelton’s back and fucks into him, hard enough that Shelton cries out, but still close. Warm.

One hand splayed on the floor for balance, Eugene takes his other hand off Shelton’s bruised side and wraps it comfortably over the base of Shelton’s neck, propping him up. Shelton squirms against him, and Eugene feels his stomach fall away at the sensation. He remembers how it had been when Shelton fucked him this way, how he had nothing to focus on but Shelton’s cock. He wonders if it’s different for Shelton, with all those memories he has of the Navy boys. 

An unexpected trindil of jealousy curls around Eugene’s stomach now that they’re like this, and he tightens the grip around Shelton’s neck, nails briefly pinching into his skin. He pulls Shelton firmly to his chest and nuzzles into his shoulder. Shelton doesn’t have Navy boys now. All Shelton has is Eugene, he’ll make sure of that. There’s fire in Eugene’s skin and he can feel the coil in Shelton’s spine, taunt and desperate. He bites down.

It’s hard enough that Shelton can’t hold back the high-pitched whine in his throat. Eugene feels his father’s ring scratch against his temple as Shelton throws a hand behind him to latch onto Eugene’s hair. He holds Eugene in place, shivering, and Eugene rocks into him again, as hard as he can at the angle they’re in.

It’s only after Shelton starts to ramble under his breath that it’s obvious how quiet the room has been. The words are entirely unrecognizable, just thready, panting French that Eugene can’t begin to understand.

“ _Cica — laisser des cicatrices,_” he whimpers, grappling for Eugene’s hand, nails clawing at his knuckles. “I — I want…”

If it’s something Shelton wants, Eugene will give it to him. Snapping his hips into Shelton’s he manages breathlessly, “Want what?”

The grip in Eugene’s hair tightens, but Shelton doesn’t speak. Eugene heaves Shelton up by his throat, his grip fixing hard, and he pulls him close against his chest, rocking into him again. 

“Say it, Merriell. Tell me,” he says, gritting his teeth when Shelton’s skin drags against his. “I promised.”

Shelton melts into Eugene’s hands, arching his back and shuddering. His nails scratch desperate against Eugene’s scalp. He’s starting to shake, and Eugene pounds into him again. 

“What — what do you want, Merriell?”

There’s no answer, and Eugene lets go of Shelton’s throat to grab a fistful of Shelton’s hair and rip backward. It’s hard to tell if the noise that bursts from Shelton’s chest is more of a scream or a moan.

“Tell me.”

“Scars,” Shelton chokes finally, words cracking. “Leave scars.”

Eugene feels his heart flutter and tension pull hard under his ribs. He nods, rocking his hips into Shelton again and tugging at his hair to bare his neck so he can sink his teeth deep back into his shoulder. The sound Shelton makes is shrill and loud, slinking hot down Eugene’s spine. If any of the other men from the company are in the barracks, there’s no way they aren’t being heard. 

The tang of blood stands out from the taste of sweat on Eugene’s tongue, and his head spins wildly as he loses control. His fist curls hard in Shelton’s hair, trying to hold him steady, and Shelton yelps at the pain. As his rhythm goes erratic, he can hear Shelton cry out over the pounding in his ears. His body starts to go limp as he comes, limbs heavy, hand falling loose from Shelton’s curls, and Shelton is trembling in his arms.

Eugene pulls away to rest his forehead against Shelton’s back and gives a final jerk of his hair before wrapping his hand back around Shelton’s throat. His nails are dug sharp into the skin under Shelton’s ears for only a moment before Shelton gropes at his fingers. For an instant, Eugene thinks it’s because he can’t breathe, but Shelton only pulls Eugene’s hand down to his cock. Eugene rolls his hand and Shelton falls apart, arching his back against Eugene’s chest and bows onto the floor, whimpering helpless, broken French into his bare shoulder. He sounds as if he’s near tears. 

There’s a residual twitch at the base of Eugene’s spine even as he feels himself going soft inside Shelton. He works his hand faster, feeling Shelton’s spine go tense as he comes.

The comedown drops Shelton limp to the floor, too exhausted to hold himself up any longer. Eugene spoons beside him on the hard cold tile. They’re silent for a long time before Shelton shivers in his arms, and Eugene wraps tighter around him. Face nuzzled close against the bite mark on Shelton’s shoulder, a hint of guilt seeps into Eugene, and he presses a kiss against the broken skin.

When he cranes his neck to kiss the long red scrapes down Shelton’s back, Shelton scoffs at him. Still, he goes easily when Eugene rolls him onto his back. Eugene kisses sweetly along Shelton’s neck, brushing his lips over the pinpricks his fingernails left behind. 

Shelton pushes him back to look at Eugene’s face. He laughs once, nervous. “What’re you doin’?”

Eugene shrugs. He doesn’t want to say the wrong thing — _fixing it, making it better, apologizing_ — so it’s better not to say anything at all. Shelton doesn’t need an answer to read it all over Eugene’s face, anyway. He traces his thumb over Eugene’s bottom lip, wiping the faint smear of blood away.

Voice gravelly, he mumbles, “You’re too fuckin’ good for me.”

“Bullshit,” Eugene answers back instantly. 

Shelton laughs again, the same fond, quiet scoff, and says nothing.

The alarm for lunch blares abruptly, causing Shelton to flinch, but he doesn’t break away. After a moment, he drops his hand. 

“Should probably get cleaned up before heading to the mess,” he admits, sounding almost shy as he takes the ring from his finger and hands it to Eugene. “Better be quick before Burgie gives up our seats.”

Shelton’s definition of “cleaning up” is swiping the wet shirt from the floor over his body before tossing it to Eugene. Eugene looks at it a moment before dropping it with a loud _splat_ onto the floor. He’d rather not bother. Instead, he straightens the ring back onto his hand.

There’s a dry shirt of Shelton’s on the floor next to Eugene’s feet, and he kicks it up onto his boot and tosses it to him. It’s easier to hide the marks they leave on each other in this weather than it was on Okinawa, but he still feels as if it’s his responsibility to make sure Shelton doesn’t wander out of the barracks without something to cover his bitemarks and bruises. His eyes skate briefly over the long faded scars parallel to Shelton’s ribs an instant before Shelton shrugs into the shirt without a word. 

If Burgie sees, he’ll kill them both. Without really meaning to, Eugene helps Shelton straighten his jacket, and Shelton lets him with a laugh.

“Worried that ol’ Superman and his x-ray vision gonna join us in the mess?”

Eugene scowls at him, but Shelton’s smile is open and honest. 

“Aw, don’t worry, kitten. Got every intention to keep you my dirty little secret.”

The nickname still makes Eugene’s cheeks burn pink. Scoffing to hide the embarrassment, he mutters, “Tell that to Burgie.”

“Kinda defeats the purpose of a secret.”

Eugene rolls his eyes, and one side of Shelton’s mouth quirks up teasingly. When Eugene doesn’t say anything, Shelton licks his lip, reaching out to cup Eugene’s face. There’s a strangely long beat where Shelton would normally say something to tease him, but he doesn’t. He closes the distance between them to kiss Eugene’s cheek.

“Burgie’s not gonna have seats for us,” Eugene points out finally. His breath catches in his voice, unsure if he wants to break the silence. Shelton huffs a laugh against Eugene’s neck.

“Right,” he says, “Let’s go.”

By the time they finally get to the mess, Burgie has given up their seats, and they have to sit several bodies away, next to Mac and Pete. Eugene keeps his eyes on his food. 

When Pete asks what took them so long, Shelton answers around a mouthful of mealy potatoes, “Couldn’t find my boots.”

“Sure,” Pete says, taking a long sip of water.

“You got mail waitin’ for you off the truck, Snaf,” Mac tells him, waving his fork to get Shelton’s attention. “They was handin’ it out before chow, but you weren’t here.” 

Shelton raises his eyebrows. “Well,” he says with an air of surprise, “Ain’t that somethin’.”

Shelton doesn’t receive a lot of mail. The only family he admits to having left is his father, and considering the way Shelton regards most of the letters he gets from home, their relationship is somewhat strained. Around the rest of the company, Shelton talks about his father as if they’re at least reasonably close, but Eugene takes notice that he usually chucks the letters once he reads them, unlike the other men who treat letters from home like they're worth their weight in stolen gold, keeping them tucked safely in their trunks and seabags. 

Eugene has only ever seen Shelton keep a handful from what he’s gotten, kept stuffed in a pocket of his seabag with the clipping that his local paper printed right before he’d shipped out. The clipping is short, but mentions him by name and praises his skills with a mortar, and he’s far more proud of it than anything his father’s ever written to him. Eugene’s never asked what makes any of the letters special, and Shelton doesn’t show him.

Still, Shelton seems pleased with the news that he has a letter waiting. He finishes his chow quickly and when he clears his dishes he doesn’t wait for Eugene before starting toward the officer’s barracks, where the mail carts are kept. Eugene watches him disappear with a grin, before he turns back to his lunch in peace with half-mumbled conversation between Mac and Pete. He takes his time finishing his meal, and takes the long way back to the barracks, giving Shelton time to read his letter in private.

When he opens the door to their bunk, Shelton is lying on their cot, facing the wall. He doesn’t react to Eugene, and Eugene’s about to say something when he kicks the crumpled letter with his boot. Eugene stoops down and picks it up, uncrumpling it loudly in the silent room. The handwriting is hard to make out, but there isn’t much there to read, as it is.

_War’s been over long enough, I expected you back in the lumberyard by now. If you don’t get your ass home soon, I’ll guess you run off with some damn Chinaman and replace you with someone more reliable._

“Think he forgot.”

They’re the first words spoken since Eugene opened the door, and they cut through the silence like a knife. Eugene doesn’t answer him, and Shelton clears his throat and sits up from the cot. 

“He’s all talk, anyways. I ain’t got nothin’ to worry about. Heard talk we rotatin’ home soon enough.”

Eugene’s still not sure what to say. He keeps his eyes trained on the letter still in his hands and lets Shelton continue to fill the silence on his own.

“Old man ain’t never gonna replace me, anyhow.” Eugene catches the flicker of a smile on Shelton’s face, but it lacks any sort of humor to it. “Nobody else listens to a damn word he has to say.”

Crushing the letter back into a ball, Eugene drops it to the floor again. He’s not sure what to do when Shelton’s like this, so openly wounded when it isn’t something Eugene can fix or change. Shelton seems to have finally run out of excuses to tell himself. Scratching awkwardly at his neck, he looks down at his boots. 

Quiet stretches for longer than Eugene thinks Shelton can stand. His fingers flex restlessly before rooting around in his pocket and pulling out a cigarette. He seems to remember he no longer has a lighter, and glances at Eugene. 

Eugene doesn’t move, and Shelton gets to his feet. There are men with lighters outside.

“Merriell…”

“I’mma find if Anderson wants a rematch,” Shelton interrupts smoothly, taking the unlit cigarette from his mouth to wave it out behind him. “If you’re still thinkin’ on a birthday present for me, this here is my last smoke.”

Eugene sighs. “Merriell,” he tries again, but Shelton is already out the door, slamming it behind him.

For a moment, Eugene just stands there in empty silence that seems to echo off the concrete walls. He looks back down at the letter on the floor, contemplating for a beat before pulling the lighter from his pocket and crouching down to set the paper on fire.

“Forgot,” he mutters bitterly, watching it burn for a few seconds before stomping it to ash. 

If Shelton wants a rematch with Anderson, Eugene shouldn’t try and stop it. Instead, he takes Shelton’s advice to heart and wanders into town on his own, trying to think of what kind of present he could give him.

At the very least, he should pick him up some cigarettes.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter's a bit early this week because I'm going to be busy roadtripping to the states to spend time with family the next two days, and I thought it'd be easier (and nicer of me lmao) to post it now! Enjoy~

It’s hard to think of something appropriate to get after the stunt Eugene pulled on Christmas, but he has to give Shelton something, especially now. Eugene tries not to focus on the line from the letter still insistently ringing in his head like an alarm bell, but it only makes it harder to ignore. _I’ll guess you run off with some damn Chinaman._ Eugene had no idea that Shelton’s family knew of the things he got up to in the Navy Yard, and he doesn’t know what to do now that he does. 

The night Hamm died, all those months ago now, Eugene remembers almost expecting it when Shelton had kissed him. He was mean and wild and strange and it was such a strange thing to do that coming from Shelton it felt acceptable, somehow. Shelton has always seemed interested in any living thing that will look at him twice. Before this letter, Eugene naturally assumed Shelton’s interest in men was a well-kept secret, that the few girls he’d admitted to had actually been many, and public. It’s strange to realize how wrong he was.

The frost makes the grass slippery to trudge through, and Eugene keeps his eyes on his feet. Something feels different, now. Shelton may have only ever been a fairy; he may have known going into this war that he’d never come home to a woman, live or die. His father knows. His mother may have known. Eugene’s not sure Shelton has ever had anyone else. 

A frigid wind blows howling down the street and forces Eugene to duck into a tiny wooden import shop. He smiles at the cardboard cartons of cigarettes lined up along the counter and places one of them in front of the shopkeeper. The smiling, bald man behind the counter brightens at the sight of Eugene’s uniform. Marines always pay well. 

Eugene reaches into his pocket, and frowns when he only pulls out American currency. When he places it next to the pack of cigarettes, the shopkeeper whistles.

“American!”

Eugene smiles again and nods. The shopkeeper places a wide, silver flip lighter on the counter next to the cigarettes and says brightly, “For you. Gift. Your money worth more.”

“Oh my, that’s not necessary,” Eugene starts to protest, but cringes at the thought of being accidently rude to a local. “Thank you, sir,” he says genuinely.

He scoops the lighter up and flips the lid, striking it to watch the fire. He’s partial to the one he got from Gunny Haney, but Shelton could use a new one. The thought occurs to him before he’s even realized, and he digs another bill out of his pocket. 

“Could you engrave this?” He tries to mime tooling instruments, carving the air to make sure he’s understood, and the shopkeeper grins and nods at him. He ducks under his counter for an instant and resurfaces with a tiny pad of paper and a pen.

“I copy what you write.”

Clicking his tongue nervously, Eugene looks from the notepad to the shopkeeper’s face. He wants to write an actual message, something that has meaning, but he doesn’t want to write anything too obvious, something the men in the company might suspect. Licking his lip, he writes three words neatly onto the paper and hands it back. The shopkeeper studies it for a moment and gives a curt nod.

“Three hour.” He holds up three fingers for clarity.

It’s not too long, but long enough that Eugene remembers how he left Shelton. He shifts his weight from foot to foot and clears his throat. 

“I’ll, uh. I’ll be back, then.”

The shopkeeper nods. “Sure, sure, come back soon,” he says, seeing Eugene out with a friendly wave. 

It’s a short trek back to the Compound, and Eugene moves quickly, keeping warm. It’s been long enough that he has faith the rematch with Anderson is over, and runs quickly to their bunk, flinging the door open with more force than he means to. Sprawled on his back over their cot, Shelton looks up at Eugene with a cigarette in between his bloody lips. Eugene doesn’t want to appear as worried as he is, so he rolls his eyes before he can completely take in Shelton’s appearance.

“Thought you used your last smoke,” Eugene mumbles, groping around in his pocket for the pack he bought at the shop.

“Bummed it off Frenchy,” Shelton says, jumping when Eugene tosses the pack to land on his chest.

“You look like shit,” Eugene says, forcing his voice flat.

He’s sporting a black eye, and both of his hands are wrapped in tape tinged red with blood along the knuckles. The bruise on his ribs from their earlier match has only gotten bigger, and now has a twin blooming higher up on his chest.

“Anderson fights dirty,” Shelton answers. His voice sounds raw, as if he hasn’t bothered to use it in hours. Or, Eugene thinks wildly, maybe he’s been crying.

“Can’t believe you let him get the best of you,” Eugene says, trying to smile. Shelton looks at him, but doesn’t smile back. He stuffs the cigarettes in his dungarees without acknowledging them.

“Never knee a Marine in the groin, I guess.” He says it like a joke, but his voice is too flat for it to be funny. He looks back up at the overhead and blows smoke out of his bruised lips. “What’d you do with my letter?”

Instead of answering, Eugene looks at the ash kicked over the floor, one of Shelton’s boots lying on its side among the dust. When he looks back up from the ground, Shelton is still lying across the cot, staring at him as if he’s the one getting bitter letters from his family, as if he’s hurt and needs to be treated carefully, like glass.

“You ain’t gotta protect me from him, Gene,” he says finally, tapping the ash from his cigarette to mix with what’s left of the letter. “Spent a good twenty years with the bastard all on my own. I got it handled.”

Eugene drops his eyes back to his feet. He rolls his shoulder and starts, “I just —”

“I ain’t need you babying me.”

The way he says it makes it hard to tell if he means to be reassuring or if he’s offended. Eugene nods. “I know.”

Shelton makes a face at that, defeated and exasperated, and flicks his cigarette butt into the remains of his letter from home. He watches it smoulder for a moment before stomping on it with his bare foot. 

Eugene winces. His eyes track the movement in silence before he offers instead, “Am I still allowed to play doctor?” He gestures at Shelton’s bruises, and Shelton looks down at himself as if he’d forgotten they were there. 

“I’m alright.”

Frowning, Eugene jokes, “I’m not _that_ bad a nurse, am I?”

“No.”

He’s not in a teasing mood, and when Eugene reaches the side of the cot, he seems to shrink into himself, trying to hide something. Eugene cranes his neck to inspect him. He cringes, unsurprised to see his back covered in scrapes and bruises as if he was pushed hard onto the floor. He notices the bite mark he’d left among them, scraped raw and filthy. It’s hard to tell quite what it is, but Eugene still wonders if anyone else noticed it.

“Jesus, Merriell,” Eugene huffs, gingerly touching a bruise spread over a knob of Shelton’s spine. “Some rematch. Did you even get a hit in?”

He expects Shelton to get defensive, to boast about how the few hits he managed were way worse than anything he’s sporting now, but all he does is scoff. Eugene clicks his tongue and sweeps up a discarded shirt off the floor. 

“Keep still. I’ll be back.”

On his way back inside from scooping up a handful of snow into the shirt, Anderson meets him in the empty hall. He looks suspiciously unscathed, leaning against the wall with a smoke. When Eugene takes a moment to inspect him, Anderson seems to understand why. 

“Is he alright?”

“He’ll live,” Eugene answers, but Anderson shakes his head.

“I mean — he’s been acting screwy, hasn’t he? Guy fuckin’ begged me for Goddamn rematch and then he didn’t swing once. Ain’t it a bit late to be goin’ Asiatic?”

Melting snow soaks into Eugene’s skin where he’s holding the lump of icy cotton to his chest. He pushes down the flare of rage in his gut, wanting to strike Anderson out of some misplaced protectiveness. 

Swallowing against the angry lump in his throat, Eugene shrugs. “Guess not.”

Shelton is still toeing silently at the pile of ash on the floor when Eugene comes back into their bunk. He doesn’t look up, and Eugene has to bite his tongue to keep from scolding him. Silently fuming, he sits next to Shelton on the cot and presses the snow against a bloody scrape on his back. 

Shelton flinches, and Eugene can’t stop the bite from his voice. “Sit still.”

He feels Shelton’s eyes on him then, but doesn’t look up. 

“What’s up _your_ skirt?” snaps Shelton.

“Did you even get a hit in?” Eugene repeats by way of answering, still refusing to look at him as he daubs the cold compress over broken skin. He wants Shelton to lie so he can catch him in it. He wants to have reason to hit him, too.

“What’s it matter?” Shelton says instead.

There’s no answer for that. It isn’t a lie, but it’s not the truth either. Eugene bites his tongue to quell the swell of rage under his skin. The silence that follows is oppressive, sagging heavy on Eugene’s bones, and the scathing comment tastes like blood in his mouth until he spits it out. 

“Couldn’t you have waited to get home and have daddy do this for you?”

The swing comes out of nowhere, cracking over Eugene’s face and sending him to the floor. He lands hard enough on the filthy concrete tile that the wind is knocked out of him, and he’s reminded starkly again of their first kiss on Okinawa when Shelton’s face appears in front of him.

“Fuck you, Sledge.”

“I’ll bet.” 

The side of Eugene’s jaw is throbbing. He runs his tongue over the left half of his teeth, tasting a hint of blood. He pushes Shelton off him and spits pink onto the tile. As he gets to his feet, Shelton lunges for him again but Eugene catches his arm.

“You gonna fight _me,_ now?” he hisses, tugging hard enough on Shelton’s arms to pull him off his knees. “Think I’ll hit any harder than Anderson?”

Shelton rips his arm away, giving Eugene a smug look before answering. “You can’t hit for shit,” he says finally, “Ain’t no use _fightin’_ you.”

Humiliated, Eugene shoves at Shelton’s chest. 

Instantly, Shelton pushes back, slamming Eugene’s back against the wall. “No!”

The word bursts out of Shelton so loudly that Eugene freezes. Shelton’s eyes are dark, fixing him coldly as he pins Eugene’s shoulders against the wall. 

His voice is unsteady when he repeats himself, catching hard enough that he almost sounds as if he’s sobbing. “No.”

Something goes soft in Eugene, reaching out for Shelton, but Shelton only bats his hand away. Startled, Eugene stays still, watching silently as Shelton works his dungarees down his own hips before tugging at Eugene’s.

“Shelton —”

“Shut up.”

Shelton’s eyes are bright, focused away from Eugene. His jaw is clenched tight against anything he wants to say as he shoves Eugene’s dungarees off his hips. 

“Take them off.”

His voice is so tense that Eugene has no desire to argue, kicking out of them silently. Eugene doesn’t meet his eyes, and pulls his shirt over his head without being asked. Shelton fishes the rifle oil out of his own pocket. They don’t say another word to each other. Shelton pins one arm over Eugene’s chest while the other hand prepares him. He doesn’t look at Eugene, doesn’t shush him gently when he makes a noise, so Eugene pretends he doesn’t make them.

Shelton is rough with him, rougher than he can remember Shelton ever being. He grabs Eugene by the thighs and hoists him off his feet, slamming Eugene hard enough against the wall that Eugene’s head cracks against the concrete. He doesn’t say anything, but the threat of being dropped is clear enough that Eugene folds his legs tightly around Shelton’s waist.

It’s an odd angle to be in, towering over Shelton this way. He always seems small when they’re together, frailer than Eugene, but now it’s more than that. Eugene feels more powerful, almost as if he’s the one doing the manhandling. The cold wall at his back and the feeling of Shelton’s hands spread wide under his hips makes the anger in his blood boil over heady and thick. He drops his elbows onto Shelton’s trembling shoulders, cradling the back of his head to his chest. He opens his mouth, but has nothing to say. Shelton waits, but when Eugene stays silent, he jerks up to kiss him, violent and harsh. Eugene’s back scrapes against the wall when Shelton’s grip falters, and he gasps against the kiss.

Teeth sink into Eugene’s lip, and excitement thrums in his bones. He can feel Shelton’s cock rocking shallow against his thigh, and can’t help but groan into Shelton’s mouth. Shelton pins him tightly to the wall and fucks into him, hard enough that Eugene cries out, nails digging into Shelton’s neck.

His bones feel too light for the rest of him. It’s hard to remember how to control his own limbs, or where the boundary of his skin is. It’s difficult to tell which touch is Shelton and which is just an overload of sensation. He makes a noise, strangled and quiet, but Shelton acts as if he hasn’t heard, slamming Eugene back against the wall again before dropping his hold on one side to latch into his hair. Eugene scrambles to stay steady, tightening his legs around Shelton’s waist and nesting his own hands in Shelton’s curls.

Grunting, Shelton rips hard at Eugene’s hair, forcing him to make eye contact as he works his hips. It’s hard to look back at him, skin around his eye bruised and tender, and a line of dried blood thick across the bridge of his nose. He’s too ashamed to say anything now, Shelton still glaring at him, even as beaten as he is. He looks wild and furious, and Eugene’s eyes drop to Shelton’s collarbone. He’s able to take in the darkened skin stretched over them, as well, a moment before Shelton rips at his hair again with a snarl. 

He doesn’t say it, but Eugene knows.

_Look at me._

His expression is harrowing, Eugene remembers seeing it every night the two of them were hidden away in muddy foxholes. His staring eyes are dark and intense, almost frightening. Eugene can hardly catch his breath. His body stretched too far, rubbed raw, pulled tender. Shelton tugs Eugene by his hair to reach his neck, biting his throat so hard in time with the snap of his hips that Eugene sees white. 

He scratches at Shelton’s nape, unsure if he’s trying to pull him closer or pull him off. Shelton only growls and grinds him harder into the wall, rubbing Eugene’s back raw. It makes his head swim, and he drops his forehead into the cradle of Shelton’s neck. He can feel Shelton trembling as his rhythm picks up speed. The hand holding up his thigh starts to slip, tape on Shelton’s fingers scratching rough over Eugene’s skin. Breathing hard, Eugene places a kiss where his lips reach Shelton’s skin.

“I love you,” Eugene tells him, voice tight and choked off from being silent for so long. 

Shelton flinches, hisses through his teeth has if he’s been scalded. He picks up the pace, moving too erratically for Eugene to move with him. Instead, Eugene’s body goes limp, and Shelton’s limbs gripping tighter around him to hold on. 

Shelton makes a sound like a wounded animal and sags forward as he comes. Eugene holds him tight, heart hammering. He prepares for Shelton’s grip to drop, but it doesn’t. Shelton doesn’t let go until after catching his breath, easing Eugene’s legs back down to the floor. The hand still ratted in Eugene’s hair slides down to cup his face, and the one at his hip moves to wrap around his cock, the scrape of boxing tape catching against sensitive skin causing him to yelp.

“Shelton,” Eugene starts as soon as he can push words past his teeth, but Shelton shakes his head to cut him off.

“I said shut up.”

His eyes stay pointed away from Eugene until after his knees hit the floor, glancing up only after he swallows Eugene’s cock down. 

Every nerve is firing past what Eugene knows to handle. Every inch of him is stinging, burning along the edge of too much. Coughing as he tries to catch his breath, Eugene tugs on Shelton’s hair, trying to hold himself steady.

Tears are pricking at Shelton’s eyes, and Eugene’s lungs turn to stone in his chest. 

“I love you,” he repeats breathlessly, heat starting to bloom outward from under his navel. His whole body goes light, fingers numb, and the words stick to the roof of his mouth when he tries to speak again.

“I — want…”

He can feel Shelton’s throat working faster, harder over him. Eugene is panting, feeling Shelton’s eyes on him even if he looks away. He feels a hand press light against his hip, holding him still against the wall, and the scratch of the tape still drives Eugene’s heartbeat up. He feels Shelton hum, short and soft that snakes all the way up his spine. Eugene lets out a whine, and before he even realizes it, he’s coming, knees going weak as his body lets go. Shelton pulls off, coughing slightly, to catch Eugene before he falls forward.

He manages to remain standing while Shelton catches his breath. He tries to catch himself against the wall when Shelton drops his arm, but his hand just slides down the concrete, and he can’t hold himself up any longer. His knees give out from under him, and he slides down the wall next to Shelton with a grunt.

“Gene?” Shelton asks, voice a quiet rasp. 

He still has tears in the corners of his eyes. Eugene reaches out to brush them away, but he says nothing. Shelton won’t admit to anything now. He’ll just put it off to choking on cock to avoid a conversation. They’re quiet for a moment, staring at each other. Eugene’s back is cold, blood drying itchy on his skin.

Sighing, Eugene mumbles, “I’m sorry.”

“ _You’re_ sorry?”

It’s not an apology by anyone’s standards but Shelton’s, but Eugene knows to hear the _I am, too_ in his words. He doesn’t focus on it. Shelton’s apology isn’t necessary.

“I shouldn’t have said — what I said.”

Shelton squirms. He doesn’t like where the conversation’s going, Eugene can tell. He grunts a vaguely accepting noise and suddenly starts digging around in his discarded pockets for cigarettes. Eugene waits for him to say something, but he doesn’t, taking his time to pull a cigarette free of the pack and grab Eugene’s dungarees for his lighter.

“Why don’t you ever just talk to me?” Eugene asks finally, “What use is it getting the tar kicked out of you instead?”

Shelton frowns. “Well, what use is talking?”

“It’s better than getting a damn shiner,” Eugene snaps, ripping his lighter from Shelton’s hands. The memory of the present he has for Shelton waiting in town goes through his mind, but now isn’t the time to worry about it.

“Did you even tap out, or did Anderson reach his limit first?”

Shelton doesn’t answer, which is an answer in itself. His eyes follow Eugene’s hand, cigarette hanging from his mouth. It seems like hours before he says anything.

“I ain’t talkin’ without a smoke.”

It’s a shaky promise, but Eugene complies. He lights Shelton’s cigarette for him, and Shelton leans against Eugene’s lap to blow a fat, lazy smoke ring toward the overhead.

They’re both quiet for so long that Eugene stops expecting Shelton to speak at all. The two of them just sit in only slightly comfortable silence, Shelton smoking his cigarette down to the butt. Eugene nudges at his clothes with his foot to drag them over, and shuffles halfway back into them. Shelton remains stubbornly pressed against Eugene’s side, so he never fastens his dungarees, and his shirt bunches at the base of his ribs. Shelton turns, just slightly, and for a moment Eugene thinks he means to give him room to finish dressing himself, but he only moves to snatch Eugene’s hand, tugging the ring from his finger.

He’s silent as he shifts comfortably against Eugene’s back again, watching his hand as he slips the ring on. He flexes his fingers without a word. After watching him silently for a moment, Eugene leans gingerly back against the wall, gummy blood sticking wet and cool to the inside of his shirt. Shelton doesn’t look back at him.

“Nothin’ was all that bad before Mama died.”

It’s so frank and sudden that Eugene jumps a little, not sure how to respond. He doesn’t, but Shelton shrugs as if he had. 

“I mean, he weren’t a bed of roses, but… She wouldn’t’ve put up with none of that shit.”

Eugene remembers the letter, and the question he’d had, about whether Shelton’s mother had known her son was an invert. He doesn’t ask. He watches Shelton tap ash onto the floor and put the cigarette back in his mouth.

“He ain’t really smack me around me til after her funeral.” 

Eugene flinches, and Shelton sees. 

“This what you wanted?”

It is, so Eugene nods. 

Shelton scoffs, puffing smoke past his lips. “Sure.” 

There’s nothing to say for a while. 

Finally, Shelton gives a little shrug. “Ain’t all bad. Taught me to fight, I guess. Clocked him back good a few times.”

He says it like he wants Eugene to laugh, but he can’t even force a smile. Shelton doesn’t say anything else, so Eugene braves asking just to keep the conversation going. “Did — were the Navy boys after…?”

He’s not sure how to phrase it, but Shelton understands. He laughs, soft and bitter. “Mama passed when I was twelve, Gene.”

Eugene nods again. In country, sympathy had seemed needless and uncomfortable, but now, there doesn’t seem to be any other options to fill the silence.

“I’m sorry.”

Another shrug. “Yeah.”

“He ain’t never see me with no one,” Shelton says after a moment. He sounds defensive, as if he’s used to bringing the fact up in the middle of an argument. “Just — hears rumors sometimes, ‘round town.”

He pulls the cigarette from his lips and watches the smoke curl from between his fingers. He sucks nervously at his teeth and puts the cigarette back in his mouth, as if he can’t seem to decide where to put it. Eugene can feel the tension from what he doesn’t say. People find out, they always do. The two of them won’t be safe anywhere.

“No one’ll know us, where we end up,” he says reassuringly.

Shelton glances at him, tossing the butt of his cigarette down to snuff it out with his heel. 

“Yeah.”

It’s not enough, so Eugene gets to his feet. “I got — I’ll be right back.”

Shelton watches him get dressed with furrowed brows. 

“Where’re you goin’?”

“It’s a surprise,” Eugene tells him, shrugging into his coat. “I’ll be right back.”

It’s dark outside, but the lamps lining the streets are still on, people milling about in the snow. Eugene wraps his arms around himself and marches down to the shop he’d gone in before. When the shopkeeper sees him, he waves excitedly. 

“Was worried I close up without you!” he says with a chuckle. 

Eugene smiles, trying not to focus on the residual sting of the scrapes down his back. With a light shake of his head he says, “I made it.”

Nodding, the man places a tiny package of newspaper on the counter with a grin. “I wrap for you. Gift, yes?”

Embarrassment tingles along the back of Eugene’s neck. It’s still strange to talk to civilians. He’s never as sure on how to communicate with them as they seem to be when striking up a conversation with him. It’s almost uncomfortable to be treated this way after so long. Like he matters, like he’s different from anyone else. Like he’s a hero. He nods awkwardly and takes the lighter in his hands. 

“Thank you, sir.”

Shelton hasn’t moved by the time Eugene gets back, except to pull his dungarees back over his hips. He has another cigarette in his mouth, but without a lighter, it just hangs limply from his mouth. His eyes are trained on Eugene’s ring, rolling it distractedly with his thumb. He looks up when Eugene opens the door.

“The hell you go for so long?” he asks before his eyes catch the little parcel in his hands. “What’s that?”

“Your present,” Eugene answers, wrapping his fist around it to hide it from view.

Eyes lighting up, Shelton gets to his feet, holding out his hand, but Eugene pulls his hand behind his back.

“Give it here, lemme see.”

“Your birthday ain’t for another six hours,” Eugene teases. 

“That’s bullshit,” Shelton grumbles, unable to keep from grinning even as he rolls his eyes, “Lemme see.”

It’s a relief to see his mood improve so suddenly, focused on something that makes him smile. Eugene’s hesitant to give it up. He keeps his hands behind his back and hums in thought, struggling to keep a straight face when Shelton reaches around for his gift.

“I dunno,” Eugene says, pretending to think it over.

“Oh, c’mon,” Shelton whines, “After all that pillow talk?”

Snorting, Eugene holds his hand up. Shelton snatches the lighter from him and tears the paper off before Eugene can say a word. He regards it curiously, running his finger over the engraving, and Eugene feels the same crawling sensation in his stomach that he had when Shelton had first opened his Christmas gift.

“This way you don’t have to keep asking for mine,” he says nervously.

The corner of Shelton’s mouth tweaks up into a smirk. He taps the letters written over the base of the lighter, and Eugene blurts out before Shelton can say anything at all. “I didn’t — the Chinaman at the shop did that for me. I don’t handle a can opener well enough.”

Shelton laughs without looking up. He taps the engraving again. “Still think so?”

Eugene nods without hesitation.

“You’re a Goddamn sap,” he says, shaking his head.

“You’ve said.”

Shelton sets it down next to the lamp, and the dim light glints off the silver. It’s etched tidier in the metal than Eugene’s handwriting had been on the notepad. _Worth the trouble._

“Give it time,” Shelton says with a laugh, reaching to tug Eugene’s wrist and lead him toward their cot. “You’re gonna wanna switch lighters before too long, gonna have to remind yourself.”

Eugene scoffs as Shelton sits back. “I doubt it.”

It makes Shelton smile, wide enough that Eugene almost forgets the things the letter said before he burned it to the ashes now smeared over the tile floor. Shelton drags him close, tipping Eugene onto his chest. 

“You’re fuckin’ hopeless.”

A nervous giggle bursts out of Eugene. “Yeah,” he agrees after a moment. “Probably.” 

Shelton sits up to kiss Eugene’s neck, pushing the coat from his shoulders to reach more skin. His voice is quiet when he finally speaks again, as if afraid to be overheard, even by Eugene.

“Tell me again.”

The words stick in Eugene’s throat in a way they haven’t before. His heart is like a rock in his chest. He curls tighter around Shelton, nuzzles his face into his neck and Shelton goes tense. Eugene never pauses. He places a kiss on Shelton’s cheek to relax him.

“I love you, Merriell.” 

Before, it had always seemed more playful, like teasing. When Shelton would ask Eugene to repeat himself, he always said _tell me_ as if he were really saying _admit it._ But it’s not like that. It never was. This is more than the first time Shelton has loved anyone. Eugene is the first person Shelton believes to have ever loved him back.

“You’re gonna get tired of hearing me say it,” Eugene assures him finally. “One day.”

He means to make Shelton laugh, but he doesn’t make a sound. Nails drag through Eugene’s hair, gentler than usual, and Shelton lets out a breath like a sigh.

“Doubt it.”

Eugene falls asleep with the rise and fall of Shelton’s chest, listening to the soft rumble of Shelton humming a French lullaby in his ear.


	13. Chapter 13

The alarm hasn’t sounded yet when Eugene wakes up. It’s still dark, quiet, and time seems entirely still if not for Shelton’s fingers twisting gently in his hair. When Eugene tries to move, Shelton noses sweetly at his temple, pressing him into the bedroll, and his voice is a raspy breath when he finally speaks.

“Whatever I want, remember?”

Eugene’s heart thrums under his skin. He nods, eyes still shut against his consciousness. Shelton is careful and soft as he rolls Eugene onto his back. His lips are dry against Eugene’s throat, kissing a trail down his chest that leads to the faded scratches over his ribs, tongue darting out to taste his skin. When Eugene shivers, Shelton’s teeth sink into the scars stretched tight over his ribs. He doesn’t say anything, but Eugene falls still as if he asked.

“Be good for me, kitten,” he whispers. “Nice and quiet.” 

Eugene glances down to see Shelton watching him with wide, clouded eyes, his face pressed against Eugene’s freckled stomach. He nods, not sure what to expect. Shelton’s lips are back to pressing soft dry kisses over him, and Eugene jolts when he feels Shelton’s tongue dip into his navel. He whimpers, and Shelton reprimands him with a quiet hiss. Eugene swallows, chewing on his lip to stay silent. Breath fans out hot between Eugene’s legs.

“I’m gonna show you what I want,” his voice is so low that Eugene can hardly hear him. “And you’re gonna give it to me when I tell you.”

“Yes.” 

The word escapes his mouth before he can help it, and Eugene’s heart leaps into his throat. Shelton nips the inside of his thigh, and it feels like scolding. Eugene sucks his lip in between his teeth again. Shelton says nothing, and Eugene’s eyes are screwed shut, but he nods anyway, sure that Shelton is watching him, waiting for some signal of understanding.

Without a sound, Shelton goes back to what he was doing, sliding his mouth slack and wet over Eugene’s cock. Eugene’s teeth sink hard into his own lip to keep from screaming. He hadn’t realized just how worked up he’d been before Shelton touched him. His tongue is hot silk, and Eugene can’t breathe. He feels faint, head spinning, and Shelton pulls off abruptly.

“Sit — sit up and look at me.”

Eugene jerks up instantly at his words, and Shelton smiles at him. Silent, he slides off of the cot, hoisting Eugene so that he’s seated at the edge, and crawls between his legs.

“ _Je te veux comme ça,_ ” he whispers against Eugene’s thigh, “ _Sur tes genoux pour moi._ ”

There’s very little to recognize in what Shelton is saying, but Eugene understands the phrase _for me_ and shudders, needy. He nods. Anything Shelton wants. 

Shelton’s eyes stay fixed on him as he slides his mouth back over Eugene’s cock.

Trembling, Eugene grips the edge of the cot hard enough that his knuckles go white, but Shelton prys his hand away, pointedly resting it in his own hair. Eugene swallows thickly against the lump in his throat and pulls. Shelton’s moan travels up through Eugene’s body like a current. Without thinking he pulls again, harder, and Shelton’s soft whine in response causes Eugene’s vision to blur. His hips twitch, but Shelton presses him into the cot with one hand, keeping him still. It’s the hand still wearing Eugene’s father’s ring. He can feel metal searing cold into his skin.

Every movement is too much. Shelton’s throat moves with every breath, and every whimper fires along Eugene’s nerves until he’s doubled over, hands nested in Shelton’s hair as tremors tear through him. Tears sting the corners of Eugene’s eyes as he struggles to catch his breath against the onslaught of sensation. Every time he looks away, Shelton pulls back, forcing him to keep eye contact. The edges of his vision start to go white and he tries to pull Shelton off of him before he comes. Shelton doesn’t move, groaning against Eugene’s grip in his hair, and Eugene’s head spins as he comes hard down Shelton’s throat.

His body sags limp as Shelton’s mouth slides off of him. His eyes have fallen shut, but he listens to Shelton’s ragged breathing as it starts to slow and even out. Eugene’s heart doesn’t stop pounding, even after Shelton has gone quiet. It seems impossible to fill his lungs. Fingers brush lightly over Eugene’s lips, and Eugene blinks his eyes open, trying to catch his breath. Shelton is watching him, eyes dark, voice hoarse when he speaks.

“You can do that for me, kitten?”

He sounds so gentle and careful that Eugene feels his heart stutter in his chest. He nods, licking his lips. Anything Shelton wants.

“I — yeah. I can — I’ll try.”

Shelton smiles at him, and Eugene feels an obscene twinge at the base of his spine as he watches him absently lick his lips. He leans forward to kiss him, a groan rumbling at the back of his throat when he tastes himself in Shelton’s mouth. He tugs gently at Shelton’s coat, trying to drag him back into their cot, but the alarm sounds before Shelton can move, breaking the two of them apart. They take a moment to blink at each other before Shelton breaks the silence.

“Should get goin’.”

Still at a loss for words, Eugene can only nod.

Barely a minute into roll call, as Shelton gropes around his pockets for a cigarette, he makes his first claim to special treatment. 

“It’s my birthday, Lieutenant,” he tells Stanley when his name is called, “Can I get the day off?”

The other men laugh, but Stanley doesn’t dignify the question with a response. Shelton lights his cigarette with his new lighter, running his thumb quickly over the lettering before pocketing it with a grin to himself.

Shelton takes every chance he gets to mention his birthday, vying for attention. He mentions it at the mess in an attempt to get an extra helping of food, but the private scooping rice onto everyone’s trays only raises his eyebrows and ladles the same amount onto Shelton’s as he does on all the others. Giggling, Eugene offers to share some of his, but Shelton only takes his coffee. He tries again, as an excuse for slacking off during rifle drills, but Stanley refuses to take the bait. 

“Christ, Shelton,” he shouts when he hears him complaining, “You want this birthday to be your last with that attitude?” 

When the action of the day dies down, Shelton whines about not being treated to a pass out to the bar the way Eugene had been. He sprawls over Eugene’s lap and bemoans his level of boredom while Eugene, Burgie and Pete all try valiantly to ignore him.

“Everybody wanted to treat _Sledgehammer_ to drinks,” he whines miserably, “But nobody gives a shit when I get older. My day’s been nothin’ but borin’ and none of you lot care to make it any better.”

“Sure don’t,” Pete grumbles, refusing to look up from the scratchings of his cat he’s doodling into his sketchbook. Eugene giggles behind his tattered Steinbeck, and Shelton flicks it, making the paperback jump in Eugene’s hands.

“What’s it like bein’ the squad favourite, Sledgehammer?”

“He’s not our favourite,” Pete says without the slightest inflection in his voice before Eugene can even think to answer. “We just don’t like you.”

Burgie and Eugene laugh. Incensed, Shelton kicks the sketchpad off Pete’s lap, sending the pencil flying from his hand to clatter across the room.

“Hey!”

“Jesus, fine,” Burgie says with a sigh, getting to his feet. “I’ll buy you a damn drink, Snaf. Anything to shut you up.”

Beaming, Shelton jumps to his feet, snatching Eugene’s wrist and pulling him up. Eugene goes without question, but Pete stays seated on the floor, glaring at the three of them.

“You’re a fucking asshole, Snafu.”

“C’mon, Pete,” Burgie says, helping Pete to stand. “Drinks are on me.”

Being a Marine doesn’t have the same pull it did months ago, they discover. The first round does end up being on Burgie, as does the second and third. The bar is quieter, emptier than when they were celebrating Eugene’s birthday, all the men gloomier now than they had been months ago. Everyone is tired these days. More than tired, they’re bored. They want to go home. The lack of celebration has Shelton moping into his beer.

“Oh, cheer up, Snafu,” Pete tells him over his glass. “We’re shippin’ off soon. Home’ll throw a big snazzy party for you when you get back, won’t they?”

Shelton huffs, unconvinced, and downs his beer without looking up. 

Eugene remembers the newspaper clipping Shelton keeps in his seabag and nudges him. “Bet the local rag will post another story about you.”

Burgie and Pete shout and raise their glasses. Shelton has shown the entire company that clipping several times over. It’s enough to make Shelton smile despite himself, and Eugene jumps a little in his seat when he feels Shelton’s hand run down his leg.

They don’t stay out as late as they did for Eugene’s birthday. Several Marines have celebrated birthdays since, and the routine of liberty passes and drinking is growing old. Eugene expects this to be a problem. He’s always known Shelton to be far more sensitive than he likes to let on, but Shelton seems genuinely ready to leave the bar when Burgie and Pete start to grumble.

Eugene doesn’t ask, but they haven’t made it far on their trek back to the barracks before Shelton falls behind the others and pushes him into an alley.

“What’re you —?” Shelton’s hand muffles the rest of Eugene’s words, and he trails kisses down his neck.

“Remember what you promised me this morning, kitten?”

The hand covering Eugene’s mouth slides over to cup his face. Shelton’s breath is hot and sweet against Eugene’s skin, and it takes him a second to understand the words leaving his mouth. 

A tremor rattles down Eugene’s spine and nests at the pit of his stomach. 

“Here? Now?” he asks, his voice cracking, swallowing anxiously and adding, “Pete and Burgie’ll wonder where we went.”

He feels Shelton’s scoff before he hears it. “No, they won’t.”

Shelton doesn’t stop trailing kisses everywhere he can reach, but it must take too long for Eugene to answer. 

“We can go back to the barracks if you’re scared,” he purrs warm against Eugene’s throat. “I just thought you liked getting the edge on my Navy boys.”

It’s the ‘my’ that does it. Eugene spins Shelton around and slams him against the rough brick of the building they’re tucked in behind. Shelton doesn’t need Navy boys anymore, Eugene will make sure of it. 

Shelton’s eyes glint like he planned it, and Eugene drops to the ground before Shelton can even push him.

The cobblestone slamming against his knees is unnaturally thrilling. He feels filthy, wrong, and it sends sparks through his bloodstream. He hasn’t even touched Shelton yet, but it must have some affect on him as well, because Eugene can see the white of his eyes expand in the dusky light. It feels safe to have Shelton towering over him, more controlled. 

Eugene’s eyes drop shut as the feeling settles into his bones. The alley is dark and cramped, like the one they’d stolen away to days ago. They won’t be found. Eugene can hear the sounds of shop owners locking up their stores, and the steady beat of stragglers in the town along their walk home. 

“Look at me, boy.”

Eugene’s eyes fly open at the order to see Shelton’s face in the residual glow from the lamps lining the main streets. The alcohol has made Shelton loose and tipsy. He’s forgotten to guard himself, forgotten to speak French, forgotten to smirk as if he holds all the cards. He’s looking at Eugene like he’d die for him, like he has already, and it makes Eugene’s heart thump heavy in his chest.

He waits for Shelton to say something else, but he doesn’t. Fingers slide over Eugene’s cheek, cradling either side of his jaw, and the silence is so still Eugene forgets to breathe. They’re frozen for a moment before one of Shelton’s hands move to clench in Eugene’s hair.

“Go on,” he murmurs.

Eugene lifts his hands, cold and shaking, from the dirty pathway to open Shelton’s dungarees. He feels thin fingers run lovingly through his hair at the base of his neck, gently guiding him forward. Eugene slides his mouth over Shelton’s cock slowly, letting his jaw hang slack. He keeps his eyes pinned to Shelton. He doesn’t need to be told, he knows Shelton wants his eyes on him. 

He rolls his tongue forward as far as he can go, but it’s not far enough. Shelton was able to take him all the way and he wants to give Shelton what he asked for. Eugene sits up higher on his knees, the bruises from the cobblestones stinging. His jaw burns, making it hard to focus on breathing out of his nose, but Eugene angles himself until his lips reach the base of Shelton’s cock.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Shelton’s voice comes out like a whine, needy and breathless, and his head knocks back against the brick wall behind him.

It’s intoxicating, and Eugene glides his tongue back and forward again to hear the thready sounds Shelton makes. His jaw is on fire and his eyes are stinging with tears, but he doesn’t stop, swallowing hard around Shelton’s cock and forcing back the instinct to gag when Shelton’s hips buck involuntarily down his throat. Shelton exhales, his breath fogging on the chilly air and whines, holding himself still, whimpering when Eugene pushes him against the wall.

“God,” Shelton cries out, fist tight in Eugene’s hair. “Perfect, you’re — you’re perfect.”

It’s hard to tell if he means for Eugene to hear him. His voice is barely a breath, loud enough to hear only for the way it echoes off the stone surrounding them. His mouth won’t stop running, every thought leaving him in a winded rush.

“Keep you — like this. Perfect little — perfect little wife to suck my cock all fucking day.”

The promise makes Eugene moan, and Shelton’s spine jerks in an effort to keep his hips still through the tremor that runs through him.

“Take care of you,” Shelton whimpers, quiet and slurred. “Keep you safe at home all — all to myself.”

Eugene’s body trembles at the idea, helpless for Shelton’s praise. He forces himself further down onto Shelton’s cock, until he can feel it at the back of his throat. Shelton’s head sags forward again to meet Eugene’s eyes, and Eugene doesn’t blink. Shelton wants him to look. He always does.

“Just for me,” Shelton tells him, and Eugene bobs his head back in an attempt to nod. “Just mine, aren’t ya?”

It’s branded on Eugene’s skin. Just his. He slips his tongue over Shelton again and watches his face as he falls apart.

“That’s it,” Shelton sighs, hands firmly planted in Eugene’s hair. “My perfect boy.”

Eugene jerks, and Shelton cries out, a quick, aborted thrust of his hips an instant before Eugene tastes the tang of come down his tongue.

“Eugene —”

Desperate, Eugene swallows him down, whining when Shelton pulls him off. His throat feels swollen and sore, but it still isn’t enough. He needs to give him more. His words come out raspy, but he can’t help the promises that fall from his mouth as Shelton tries shakily to find his feet.

“I will,” Eugene begs, breathless, “Anything — everything you want.”

He grabs what he can reach of Shelton’s coat and slides him down. 

Drunk and lightheaded, Shelton goes easily. “Jesus.”

His voice sounds dry, and Eugene licks his lips before leading him into a kiss. He feels Shelton shiver against him at the taste, and pulls away to draw the kisses down his neck. 

“Everything you want,” he promises, his voice thick, “just for you.”

Shelton lets out a heavy breath, but doesn’t say another word. Eugene curls into him, forgetting where they should be. He feels a hand stroke knowingly at his nape as he straightens Shelton’s dungarees, and they sit in silence as the wind gets louder than the sounds of the city.

It’s hard to tell how long they sit in the dark. It’s quite a while before the stillness breaks, and Shelton presses a kiss to Eugene’s temple. 

His voice sounds oddly flat when he at last manages, “We should get back.” He pulls away to look at Eugene, runs his thumb over his bottom lip. “You —” he stops and clears his throat, uncommonly flustered. “You alright?”

The careful hands on his face and shaky questioning remind Eugene of the first time he ever got on his knees for Shelton. He smiles a little and nods, but Shelton assesses him anyway, eyes darting from his face to his hands, resting limp in his lap. He leans forward to press a kiss to Eugene’s forehead and hoists himself to his feet.

“C’mon, then.”

When Eugene reaches for him, surrounded by the dark, chilly quiet, Shelton grabs his hand. His thumb and forefinger twist Eugene’s ring off of his hand and he slides it over his own. It’s the first time he’s ever worn it outside of their rack, and Eugene’s heart hammers in his chest. There’s no one around to see, but Shelton stares down at his knuckles as if he’s not sure how it got there.

“Gene,” he says quietly. Eugene tilts his head to show he’s listening, but Shelton doesn’t say anything else. He drops his hand and clenches his fist to hide the ring into his palm, and the rest of the walk is taken in perfect silence.

Once the door shuts behind them, Eugene tries to find his voice, but his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. He watches as Shelton takes a seat on their cot and stares unblinkingly at his hand.

“Are um — are _you_ alright?”

Licking his lips, Shelton nods.

For a moment, neither of them move. Shelton takes a deep breath before he reaches for Eugene. Eugene closes the distance between them, and Shelton pulls him close, wrapping his arms around Eugene’s middle. It’s oddly sweet, and Eugene runs a hand through Shelton’s hair before sitting next to him on the edge of the cot. 

The quiet of the room is tense until Shelton laces his fingers with Eugene’s and whispers, “Love you.”

“I love you, too,” Eugene says gently, not sure if he should respond at all. 

He’s relieved when Shelton smiles, but he’s gone back to looking at the ring. He pulls Eugene’s hand up to his mouth and presses a kiss to his knuckles.

“ _Ne te mérite pas,_ ” he murmurs against Eugene’s skin.

“That better not be somethin’ snide about me,” Eugene says teasingly in an attempt to ease the knot in his chest.

“Never,” Shelton answers with a smirk, finally tearing his eyes away from the ring on his hand. 

His expression is tired when he looks at Eugene, and Eugene leans forward to press their foreheads together. Shelton cups his face like he’s afraid Eugene may slip away, and Eugene kisses him to take the heartbreaking look off his face.

“Let’s get some shuteye,” he says firmly, not giving Shelton a chance to argue.

He doesn’t even try, nodding and dragging Eugene down along with him, burying his nose in the crook of Eugene’s neck.

“Happy birthday, Snaf,” Eugene whispers into his hair.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this is late! I mean I guess it's not super late but it's later than usual and I'm sorry!! My parents were in town last week and they FINALLY WENT HOME and work gave me a few extra sympathetic days off so it's been a lot of bubble baths and wine to unwind from a whole week of a human Dory from Finding Nemo and an Obnoxiously Stereotypical American claiming everything we were eating was actually just cleverly disguised American food he's already eaten, and I've lost all track of time.
> 
> Sorry, you don't need my life story, here's the chapter. SORRY AGAIN <3

Hangovers greet them all the next morning, not bad enough to split their heads in half but bad enough to have all of them moping sullenly over their cups of coffee in the mess hall at breakfast. Pete rests his head against the table and Burgie watches with a dull smile while Shelton flicks bits of rice at him until he complains.

“So, Pete mentioned it last night, got me thinkin’,” Burgie tells them as he pushes his breakfast around his tray with mild interest. “Word is, we’re rotating home soon and I’ve been, uh, well, I’m stuck on what to write to Florence.”

“Well, what do you _want_ to tell her?” Eugene asks with a shrug. 

Burgie’s ears turn red, and his fork scrapes loudly against the tin of the tray.

“He wants his girl to be there and meet ‘im at the train station,” Shelton answers for him, voice sing-songy and teasing like a child on the playground. “Don’t ya?”

Eugene snorts out of surprise. “In Texas?”

“She could like Texas,” Burgie says defensively. “Weather’s about the same as Melbourne anyhow.”

“Family’s a bit far to make the wedding,” Pete grumbles into the plank his face is pressed against. 

Burgie frowns, and Eugene can see the thought sink into his chest. He gives Burgie a smile to keep him from dwelling on it.

“If you want help with that letter,” Eugene teases lightly, “I’ve been told I can be very charming and persuasive.” 

Pete and Shelton scoff in unison, but it does the trick to get the dejected look off of Burgie’s face.

“I dunno about all that,” Burgie answers, “But I’ll guess I can take all the help I can get.” When Shelton opens his mouth, Burgie adds, “Except yours.”

Shelton puts on the air of being hurt, and Pete groans. “I’d let ‘im help you, Burgie, ‘cause I ain’t doin’ shit to get you laid before me.”

The other three burst out laughing. Burgie’s quick to point out, “Your bad luck with the ladies ain’t my fault,” but his words are drowned out by Shelton’s.

“What happened to all the pussy you were gettin’, there, Fouts?”

“Oh, fuck off, all of you,” Pete grumbles, shaking the rice from his hair. He looks pointedly at Burgie as he gets up from his bench. “And you, you oughta find yourself a jewelry shop around here someplace. Girls might think you’re a real looker and all, but ain’t nobody in this company handsome enough to get a girl movin’ halfway ‘round the world without somethin’ shiny to put on her finger.”

He turns on his heel and walks away, but Eugene wrinkles his nose. 

“Nah, that’s no good,” he blurts without thinking, “Doesn’t mean enough that way.” He gathers up his tray and the one Pete left behind. “Give her somethin’ that matters. An heirloom from your grandma or somesuch.”

He doesn’t realize what he’s said until he feels Shelton’s eyes on him. He’s thankful Pete is already gone. He doesn’t look back at Shelton, and clears his throat before giving Burgie’s shoulder a pat. 

“It’ll mean more if it’s from the family, right? Make her feel like part of it. Helps to ease gettin’ homesick, probably.” He’s speaking too quickly, and swallows before adding as calmly as he can, “Make the promises now, follow through later.”

Burgie lets out a low whistle. “You weren’t kidding about all that romantic charming bullshit, were you, Sledgehammer?”

Eugene smiles, a little nervously, but Shelton doesn’t. His eyes have fallen to his lap. He doesn’t get up when Eugene does, and doesn’t even glance back to watch him leave for rifle drills.

The day is busy for all of them. At least that’s what Eugene tells himself when he doesn’t see Shelton again that morning. He isn’t in the mess when the horns sound for lunch, and when Burgie asks Eugene where Shelton is, Eugene’s throat feels unnervingly tight when he actually doesn’t know. Always able to sense when something is wrong, Burgie smiles and doesn’t push it. Instead he tells him he’ll bring liquor by later.

“If you’re feelin’ up to it, I mean. Both of you. Could really use some help gettin’ the words out.”

Eugene nods, but doesn’t make any promises.

The sun starts to set while Eugene sits smoking his pipe in the courtyard, halfway watching Anderson beat some kid from How company at tennis. It’s been several hours since Eugene has seen Shelton, but he doesn’t react when Shelton wanders up to him and takes a seat. They’re both quiet for a moment, and Eugene feels a cold chill crawl up the back of his neck at the way the silence drags before Shelton breaks it.

“Whose is it?”

Anxious, Eugene doesn’t find his voice, squirming just enough for Shelton to take pity on him. “Sure as hell ain’t your ma’s, but it — it’s not yours, is it?”

“Should we really talk about this —”

“Fucking tell me.”

Instead, Eugene gets to his feet, propelled by terror of drawing attention. He dusts off his hips and starts toward the barracks. He doesn’t look back, but he knows Shelton follows him. When they’re a safe distance away from tennis courts, he drops back until he can feel Shelton on his heels.

“It’s my father’s.”

Surprisingly, Shelton doesn’t respond to that with more than a nod. 

“Where’d he get it?” he asks instead.

Eugene hadn’t prepared for that question, and the answer falls out of his mouth unpracticed. “His father.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Oh, so _what?_ ” Eugene asks, wheeling on him as they stand just outside the door to the barracks. “What _else_ am I supposed to do with it?”

“Get inside,” Shelton hisses, shoving him past the door. Eugene stumbles through the doorway, but the hall is empty, and Shelton shuts the door behind them and grabs him by the collar. 

“You can’t be givin’ me shit meant for — you’re supposed to… it’s for your damn son, Eugene. You can’t give it to me.”

“I don’t want sons,” Eugene says quietly, “I want —”

He falters at the look on Shelton’s face, somewhere between rage and fear. There’s nervous confusion in his hands making the grip on Eugene’s collar shake. Eugene wants to say it. He doesn’t want sons, or daughters, he doesn’t want a wife anymore. He just wants Shelton, and Shelton knows. There’s no use in saying it, but he does anyway.

“I’m not having sons. I gave it to you.”

“Christ.”

Eugene stumbles slightly when Shelton drops the hold on his coat. He looks away, eyes staring past him to some undefined spot. He looks pale, sick, and Eugene feels his stomach bottom out.

“Merriell —?”

“The fuck am I doing? _Fuck._ I can’t — this is so fucking stupid.”

The words are like sick crawling up Eugene’s throat. He shakes his head. They’ve had this argument already. “Stop it.”

Shelton doesn’t even hear him. He drops heavy against the wall, and Eugene sees it on his face. The panic that had swallowed him whole in Okinawa, and when they first arrived here in Peking. It’s eating at Shelton now. An echo of it claws at Eugene’s chest as he reaches over to help hold Shelton up before he falls.

“No, Merriell, look at me.”

He doesn’t, shaking his head, but it’s hard to tell if he’s responding to Eugene or if he’s doing it thoughtlessly. “We can’t do this. We ain’t never gonna get away with this. What the fuck was I thinking?”

Eugene’s legs move like lead as he half drags Shelton a few feet to a chair in the common room, setting him down the way Shelton had sat him on the bench in town, crouching down in front of him, waiting for Shelton to catch his breath.

“ _Merde,_ ” he says before Eugene can try and calm him down. “ _Ne le mérite pas._ ”

“Hey,” Eugene snaps, giving his cheek a light smack. “Look at me. We’ve — you knew what I wanted when I gave it to you. What difference does it make where I got it from?”

It takes a moment for Shelton to respond. He blinks owlishly at Eugene as if only just realizing they’ve moved away from the door. His eyes drop to his hands, absently stroking the spot on his finger where Eugene’s ring usually sits. 

“Jesus. It’s — it’s different.” He clicks his tongue, stalling for time. “You’re not like me, Gene. Got folks waitin’ on you back home. Your ma’s alive. Your old man’s heartsick over you being out here. I’m — I can’t just fuckin’ steal you away to live in sin when you got family.”

Eugene laughs, almost positive he’s joking, but anxiety rips at his stomach. “Don’t be stupid.”

“ _There’s_ an idea,” Shelton mumbles to himself.

“Shut up,” Eugene says, voice tight. “I have the same family now that I did when I gave it to you. Stop acting like anything’s different. It ain’t up to you to make my choices.”

“I can’t take it, Sledge. It’s not meant for me.”

“Don’t give me that shit,” Eugene answers, ripping the ring off his finger and pressing it into Shelton’s palm. “It is now.”

Shelton stares down at the ring for so long Eugene is reminded of Christmas, and the panic in his throat.

“Why don’t you want sons anymore, Gene?”

The words come out so soft and quiet it doesn’t even sound like Shelton’s voice. Eugene doesn’t want to talk about this anymore. He doesn’t answer, taking the ring from Shelton’s palm and delicately slips it onto his finger.

“Gene…” he says it like an objection, but he doesn’t pull his hand away.

Sitting up on his knees, Eugene takes Shelton’s face in his hands and pulls him into a kiss. Despite himself, Shelton responds instantly, kissing back hungry and desperate enough to knock Eugene back onto his heels. A whine pulls from the back of his throat as he grapples for Eugene, crawling over him before he’s even pushed Eugene onto the floor.

They don’t hear anyone in the barracks, but it’s dangerous to be outside of their bunk like this. Eugene’s afraid to stop him, worried it may bring them back to arguing. He can’t stand to think about home, or his family. His letters to Alabama have slowly gotten shorter and fewer, quick little reminders that he’s still in China and little else. He can’t have Shelton go back on this now. He needs it. He hasn’t opened a letter from home in weeks. He can’t go back. 

A bite high on his neck snaps Eugene back to himself. “Merriell —”

Shelton gasps, face pressed to Eugene’s throat, and knots a hand in his hair. His breathing is ragged against Eugene’s skin, and his other hand rips at the buttons of his coat, clumsy and rough. Heart pounding, Eugene cradles the back of Shelton’s head, tucking him closer against his neck. Shelton goes perfectly still, dropping his grip on Eugene’s coat.

The quiet is uncomfortably sudden. Eugene’s mouth goes dry when he feels the smear of dampness against his neck. He’s too terrified to say a word, and Shelton doesn’t move. Swallowing hard, he runs his hand through Shelton’s hair. 

“I love you,” Eugene says finally, because it feels safe to remind him.

Shelton doesn’t speak. He nods once against Eugene’s throat, and Eugene tenses at the blink of tears on his skin. They don’t move, and Eugene is glad for it. He doesn’t know if he can handle looking at Shelton right now, still and quiet and broken. The hand in Eugene’s hair tightens, and Shelton clears his throat. Eugene flinches, expecting him to speak, voice cracking, but he doesn’t make another sound.

Eugene’s not sure how long they lie there, but it’s long enough that by the time Shelton speaks, his voice is steady.

“Why don’t you want sons, Gene?”

“I just don’t.” 

“You wanted ‘em once.”

He’s right, but Eugene has never mentioned it. “You don’t know that.”

Shelton sighs, loud and heavy against Eugene’s neck. “Yeah, I do.”

There’s nothing to say to that. A shiver rolls down Eugene’s spine when Shelton goes back to kissing down his neck, hands deftly back to unbuttoning his coat. It’s hard to tell where Shelton’s head is when he does this. He can’t even seem to keep track of it himself, nipping at Eugene’s throat as if barely contained, but determined to still be angry.

“Why’d you change your mind?” His voice is breathy and low, and Eugene feels it twist inappropriately in his stomach. 

Fingers are cold when they slip under his shirt to dance over his side, and Eugene gasps. “The war.”

The air between them changes. Shelton’s mouth is warm against his ear. “ _Ne le mérite pas._ ” 

It doesn’t matter what objections he has. Eugene swallows hard against the lump in his throat and pushes further. “You. I want you.”

“You’re fucking stupid.” 

“The way I gotta repeat myself for you? You’re no brain child, yourself.”

A quiet scoff as he shrugs Eugene’s coat from his shoulders. 

“I ain’t got nothin’ for you, Eugene.” He’s still not looking at Eugene as he speaks, peppering kisses along every inch of skin he can reach. “Back home you got everythin’. Family and money and a real nice roof over your head. Runnin’ away with me ain’t gonna be — I’m not…”

He starts to trail off, but Eugene doesn’t let him. He shifts his shoulders up until he can finally look Shelton in the eye. “You’re not what, Merriell?”

The front door to the barracks swings open, and Shelton springs to his feet so fast it takes a moment for Eugene to realize he’s suddenly staring at open air. He sits up and shuffles quietly back into his coat, but doesn’t stand, throwing his arms over his knees, staring past Shelton’s legs at the empty chair behind him.

“Gentlemen.” Anderson’s voice is ice in Eugene’s blood. An instant sooner and he would’ve seen them. “I didn’t happen to interrupt a little altercation, did I?” 

“No,” Shelton answers quickly. Eugene says nothing.

Anderson seems to accept Shelton’s answer well enough, anyway, and moves on. “Have either of you seen Burgin about? Guy owes me twenty bucks for knockin’ that Walters kid on his ass.”

Eugene shakes his head. Shelton scoffs before answering, “Haven’t seen ‘im.”

“Yeah, well, let him know I’m looking for him, if you do,” he tells them. He’s quiet for a moment, and then adds, “You sure you’re all right down there, Sledgehammer?”

Eugene glances up at him. “Just tired.”

The way Anderson glances at Shelton for confirmation is unnerving. Anderson isn’t particularly close to either Eugene or Shelton. As often as they talk about all the Marines knowing what goes on between the two of them, it always spooks them when someone outside of second squad shows that they suspect.

When Shelton notices him staring, he just shrugs.

“All right,” Anderson says finally. “Keep a look out for Burgie for me.”

“Sure,” Shelton answers. 

Eugene can feel his eyes boring into him, but doesn’t look over. It’s quiet for a while after Anderson’s door shuts behind him. Eugene hugs his knees and stares at the floor, the sensation of Shelton looking down at him itching on his skin.

Finally, he speaks, quiet enough to know he won’t be overheard. “You can’t give me what I’m used to. That’s what this is all about, right?”

Shelton doesn’t answer. Eugene doubts he even blinks.

“Well I sure ain’t used to it anymore. I told you that. The nice house and the family and all. I wouldn’t belong there anymore. Not after this.” Still nothing from Shelton, so Eugene continues. “I don’t know who the hell you think I was before this damn war, but it don’t matter, because I’m not anymore.”

A scoff, followed by silence. 

Annoyed, Eugene snaps, “I dunno how you expect me to not be damned when you think I’m gonna be living in sin with you.”

“That’s not — shut up. You’re not fuckin’ damned, Gene. I just meant — _I’m_ — I’m not…”

“There it is again,” Eugene tells the floor to keep from raising his voice. “You’re not. You’re not _what?_ What the hell am _I_ that you _aren’t?_ ”

Shelton heaves his shoulders with a sigh. When Eugene looks up, Shelton looks down. He wants to avoid answering, but no one else is coming into the barracks to save him this time. Eugene stares unblinkingly at him, waiting.

“ _Good,_ ” Shelton answers finally, dropping back into the chair. 

Eugene takes pause at that. He doesn’t have a way to respond, and Shelton is apparently finished talking. He stares at his hands again. He twists a ring that isn’t there and clears his throat, unnerved by the silence.

“You’re smart. Daddy was gonna send you off to school, wasn’t he?”

Eugene nods. 

Shelton doesn’t look up, but he must know. “Yeah. Figured that.”

“What does that mean?” Eugene asks, defensive.

Instead of answering, Shelton pats down his pockets. He must be out of cigarettes, because all he brings out is his lighter. He looks at it for a moment before asking, “What were you plannin’ to write in that last letter home?”

“What?”

Shelton clicks his tongue, flipping the lid of the lighter up and down. “You were real gung-ho about it the last time. Doesn’t even have to be ‘Bama, you said. So, what would Mama and Daddy have to say to you not comin’ home?”

It isn’t something Eugene has let himself think about. He shrugs and looks back at the floor. He’s afraid to admit he doesn’t read letters from home anymore. He wonders if Shelton possibly noticed, or found the unopened envelopes in his seabag.

“I don’t know,” he says under his breath.

When the door to the hallway opens again, they both stop to look over. Burgie spots them and grins, a notebook in his hand and a few bottles of wine tucked precariously under his arm.

“Oh, good, you’re both here!” He sounds more relieved than he probably should be, if they were any other mortarmen. He doesn’t get another word out before Shelton points back toward the bunks.

“Anderson’s lookin’ for you,” he says, voice clipped. “Says you owe him money.”

“Oh, shit.” Burgie’s face falls as he follows the direction of Shelton’s finger. “He’s here? Damnit, hold on a sec.” He hands Eugene the notepad and sets the wine bottles at his feet. “I’ll be back.”

They both watch him leave in silence. After a moment, Shelton points at the notepad. 

“The hell is that?”

Breakfast this morning feels like weeks ago. Eugene stares at the notepad in his hands for a second before realizing Shelton asked a question. 

“He wants our help writing Florence. Think he’s proposin’,” Eugene reminds him. Shelton drops his head with a _thunk_ against the back of the chair.

“Great.”

Eugene pretends he doesn’t hear him. He cracks the notebook open at the dog-eared page and tries to think of something else. There’s several attempts scratched out already, a few pages ripped out at the spine that Eugene assumes were either sent off to Australia or were too terrible for Burgie to even look at. He’s quiet as he flips through the earlier pages, sensing when Shelton looks up to watch him. 

He’s difficult to ignore, and Eugene must be frowning with the effort when Burgie comes back. When he stands over Eugene, a nervous laugh bubbles out of him until Eugene meets his eyes.

“That — is it that bad?” His smile is wavering, and Eugene feels guilty for looking through his book without him here. He shakes his head, and Burgie sits down beside him.

“Just feel like I’m probably readin’ stuff I shouldn’t,” he covers quickly, passing the journal to him.

Shrugging, Burgie laughs, a little easier this time. “Nah, ain’t got nothin’ to worry about, there.” He flips it back open and pokes one of the torn edges. “I ripped out all the good stuff.”

“Can’t expect us to help you with that attitude,” Shelton grunts.

When the two of them look over, he finally slides down onto the floor from pouting in his chair. He snatches one of the wine bottles off the ground and uncorks it, tipping it greedily into his mouth. When he sets it back into his lap, Burgie grabs it back from him.

“You only get this if you’re willin’ to _help me._ ” He gives the bottle a little shake. “How’s _that_ attitude?”

Shelton sighs, but it sounds mostly facetious before he shrugs. “Fine.”

For the first twenty minutes, all Shelton adds to Eugene and Burgie’s attempts at drafting a letter is make snide comments that are uncomfortably relevant to Eugene alone and starkly unhelpful to Burgie. It takes several passes of the bottle between the three of them before they genuinely start to discuss Burgie’s proposal. It’s well into the second bottle before Shelton actually smiles. By the time they’re talking enough that Burgie is actually jotting down ideas, Frenchy comes in from standing out on guard duty to shoo them into their dorms.

“You guys are gonna get my ass in hot water with Stanley if you stay out here,” he snaps. “It was lights out almost an hour ago.”

“Sorry, French,” Burgie tells him, loose and slurred. “Kinda los’ track a’ time.”

Frenchy doesn’t seem particularly interested, but Shelton waves the mostly-empty bottle in hand in the direction of Burgie’s notebook to explain. 

“We’re helpin’ the corporal get hitched.” When Burgie rolls his eyes, embarrassed, Shelton adds, “He’s good as got her walkin’ down that aisle by now.”

“Fan-fuckin’-tastic,” Frenchy grumbles. He looks at Burgie and says with stilted civility, “Congratulations, sir.” Before Burgie can respond, he’s regarding Eugene and Shelton again. “I guess that means you could get your asses inside.”

Burgie awkwardly offers him what’s left of their wine for his trouble, but Frenchy declines with strained politeness before looking back at Eugene and Shelton. He can’t say what he wants to Burgie, but neither of them outrank Frenchy. He can actually treat them with the the amount of frustration he feels, so he keeps his eyes on them when he stamps the butt of his rifle on the floor.

“Would you _get inside?_ ”

Hooting with laughter, the three of them duck into Shelton and Eugene’s bunk to finish their brainstorming. When they settle onto the floor this time, Shelton sits next to Eugene. Burgie busies himself flipping through his notebook to find where he’d been before the interruption, and Shelton takes the chance to reach over and wrap his fingers around Eugene’s hand. A quick and silent apology.

By the time Burgie finds what he’s looking for, Shelton has pulled his hand away.

They don’t have much left to go on before they start to run out of steam. 

“I still gotta write my ma about my granny’s ring,” Burgie says aloud as the conversation starts to die down, “And Mr. Risely, too, for permission and such. Only right.”

“You met her old man, then?” Shelton asks, eyes on his hands.

When Burgie nods, Shelton drops his head heavily into Eugene’s lap. Eugene has to be imagining the instant of relief that crosses Burgie’s face. Shelton doesn’t notice, anyway. He pretends to pick at his fingernails, feigning disinterest in his own question. 

“He like you?”

Awkwardly scratching at his neck, Burgie shrugs. “Jeez, I think so. Hope so.”

There’s a long drag of silence before Shelton finally mumbles, “That’s good.”

It’s too honest, and the quiet that follows feels thick and uncomfortable. Eugene stares down at Shelton, but he doesn’t even seem to realize what he’s said, still inspecting his nails. 

Before he can stop himself, Eugene runs a hand through Shelton’s hair. Shelton glances up at the touch, and Eugene’s stomach lurches. They don’t say anything, and neither of them move, but they forget they aren’t alone until Burgie clears his throat. Eugene jerks his hand away out of habit, but when he looks up, Burgie’s eyes are on the floor, an attempt at some semblance of privacy.

“I’m — uh,” Burgie clears his throat again before getting to his feet. “I’m gonna sober up and get some sleep before writing it all out.” He looks down at the notepad in his hands before he looks back at Eugene and Shelton. Shelton turns his face away, but Eugene gives him a smile.

“Thanks, fellas. I mean it, really. Y’all helped a lot.”

“Sure,” Eugene answers back. “You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about anyway. Don’t have a doubt in my mind she won’t say yes.” 

His voice sounds flat to his own ears, but if Burgie can tell, he has the decency to pretend otherwise. He grins at Eugene and wishes them both goodnight before retiring to his own bunk.

It’s quiet enough to hear a pin drop long after Burgie leaves. Eugene places his hand back in Shelton’s hair, but Shelton keeps his eyes on the wall just past Eugene and doesn’t say anything.

“We should get some sleep,” Eugene says after a while. 

Shelton nods, but doesn’t move. Wordlessly, Eugene slips the ring off his finger and places it in Shelton’s open palm. When Shelton doesn’t react, Eugene closes his hand over it, keeping his fingers over Shelton’s until he feels his grip tighten around the ring. 

“C’mon,” Eugene urges gently, shifting to get to his feet, but Shelton rolls over and pins Eugene’s hips back to the floor. “Merriell…” 

“Just —” Shelton sits up a little, half-crawling into Eugene’s lap. “Just hold on.”

He pushes down heavy on Eugene’s chest until he drops back onto his elbows, breath caught in his lungs. Shelton straddles his hips before putting the ring on his finger, looking down at his hand for a moment before splaying it across Eugene’s chest.

“Wartime changed your mind, huh?”

Eugene nods in instant response.

“You go home, you find yourself a nice little dame who wants to marry you and make you babies, and you’d tell her ‘thanks but no thanks’?”

Another nod. Shelton’s hand skates over his jaw. His touch is hesitant in a way it never had been, even on Okinawa. There’s something restless in him, now. Scared.

“Good ol’ Sledge line ends with you?”

A shrug this time. “I got a brother.” 

Eyebrows raised, Shelton tilts his head. Eugene has mentioned his brother to Shelton before. It’s no secret where he is. 

“War ain’t bother him the same, I suppose?”

Eugene’s mouth is so dry it’s as if sand coats his tongue. He swallows hard, throat in knots, and shakes his head. 

“I don’t — I don’t care.”

After all they’ve said, Eugene doesn’t expect it to mean anything. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe Shelton is just too tired to care anymore, either. He doesn’t have an answer, just leans forward and kisses Eugene. 

It’s so soft and quick it doesn’t even feel real. Eugene whines when he pulls up, snatching a fistful of Shelton’s hair and tugging him back down. Shelton gasps into the kiss, and Eugene feels it in his chest. Heart pounding, words spill out of Eugene’s mouth, none of them quite connected as he babbles in between kisses. “I don’t — I don’t want… Please, Merriell. _Please_ — I just —” 

“Gene —”

“Don’t.”

Surprisingly, Shelton listens. He swallows, eyes holding Eugene steady. He doesn’t try to start again, but Eugene watches as his body goes slack. His shoulders sag, and he lets out a long sigh that seems to flow out from the bottom of his spine. He licks his lips, running his fingers over Eugene’s face again.

When he pushes forward to kiss Eugene again, it’s greedy. Hungry and desperate, he slams Eugene back against the tile. Pain bursts over the back of Eugene’s skull and he flinches, grasping helplessly at Shelton’s coat to keep him close when he whimpers.

“If Anderson hadn’t —” Shelton hesitates for a breath, but Eugene doesn’t let him pull away, and the rest of what he has to say is mumbled against Eugene’s mouth. “If I asked you to fuck me, ‘fore he showed up —”

Eugene nods before he can even finish his question, flipping on top and rolling Shelton onto his back and pressing close to him. He’d do anything Shelton asked, Shelton must know that by now. He doesn’t realize what his answer means until Shelton says it.

“We’d’ve been caught.”

Vaguely, Eugene remembers the dread in his stomach at the same thought. He can’t tell if that’s what Shelton feels, or if he’s more excited by the thought. It doesn’t matter now, he can’t let it. They weren’t caught and nothing has to change. He shakes his head, pulling Shelton closer.

“Anderson knows already,” he assures the both of them.

It may not be true, but Eugene doesn’t dwell on it. Before Shelton can respond, Eugene kisses down his neck. He unbuttons Shelton’s coat, bowed so close over him that Eugene can feel the heat radiating from his body as he drags his clothes off. After a moment, Shelton nods, breath shaking, and the hand wearing the ring cups the back of his neck.

“Gene…” Shelton’s voice is soft this time, nervous. His mind is somewhere Eugene doesn’t want it to go. 

He ducks his head to sink his teeth into Shelton’s collarbone, reveling in the little tremor in his spine as he cries out. Nails dig into the skin of his nape and Eugene bites down harder, listening to the soft little whimpers of breath Shelton lets out against his ear. He says his name again, needy and quiet, and Eugene tugs open his dungarees without pulling away.

As Shelton shuffles out of them the rest of the way, Eugene grapples for the rifle oil, nearly knocking it to the floor as he rushes to coat his fingers. Eugene only bothers to open his dungarees, but Shelton stops him to shuck off his coat, grabbing the hem of the shirt underneath and pulling it over Eugene’s head. Eugene hovers frozen over Shelton as he runs his hands over pale freckled skin. He watches Shelton’s eyes, following the line his hands trace from Eugene’s chest over his shoulders. When he finally meets Eugene’s eyes, he smirks.

“Ain’t no one gonna catch us here.”

His voice is low, and not nearly as smug and self-assured as he means to sound. He still has that strange look on his face that he’d had when talking to Burgie about Florence’s father. It was a look Eugene had caught on his face several times in country, when Ack-Ack died, after Hamm was shot down. He’s hopeless and scared, and too proud to admit either.

“Eugene?” 

Eugene blinks, realizing he’s been silently staring at Shelton’s face for God knows how long. Shelton’s fingers are calloused and cool against his face, so gentle it seems almost as if Shelton is afraid to touch him.

“I love you,” Eugene says, voice raw.

Shelton smiles, a soft little chuckle on his breath. He doesn’t say it back. He doesn’t need to. He cranes his neck to kiss Eugene, cupping his face in his hands, and it’s so genuine and sweet that Eugene can feel it rush to his head faster than any alcohol he’s had. 

The way Shelton’s touching him is contagious. He cradles Shelton close to him as if he’s made of glass, burying his face in Shelton’s neck to kiss everywhere he can reach. His hands move light and tentative over Shelton’s hips, and breath catches in Eugene’s chest as if he’s still new to this, as if he hasn’t learned Shelton’s body well enough to be the only familiar thing he still has. 

The air between them is perfectly still. Shelton only groans when Eugene slides fingers into him. He doesn’t pull away, even when Eugene quickly works a third finger inside. They’re too close for Eugene to watch him, tangled into each other. Shelton drapes a leg over Eugene’s back and it’s so much like begging that Eugene’s sure he hears it. He pulls his hand away and pushes into Shelton hard enough to make him hiss in pain against Eugene’s mouth. He means to apologize and tries to pull back, but Shelton only holds him still, wriggling back against his cock. 

“Harder,” Shelton whines against the kiss. 

Nodding, Eugene does as he asks, slamming forward hard enough that Shelton’s spine turns to water, falling slack in Eugene’s arms. Eugene moves faster, and it’s enough that he can feel his head spinning, watching Shelton’s eyes roll back as his head falls against the tile with a _thunk._

The hand wearing Eugene’s ring latches onto a handful of coppery hair, pulling him as close as Eugene can manage to be. 

“Tell me,” Shelton begs, voice shaking, and Eugene lets his mouth run without a second thought.

“I love you, Merriell. I’ll go — anywhere with you. I’m yours, you know that.” He watches Shelton’s throat work around swallowing a panicked lump, leaning forward to place a kiss on Shelton’s throat. “You know I’d do — I’d do anything for you.”

Words leave Shelton’s mouth in a rush, too slurred and quiet for Eugene to understand. He thinks he hears his own name, but doesn’t stop, thrusting hard enough into Shelton that he can see it in his face when he forgets himself, eyes staring black and wide at the overhead as Eugene forces himself to keep talking.

“Look at me, Merriell. I want — I just want you.”

Shelton’s eyes find his, glassy and soft, and Eugene shivers at the way Shelton’s thumb drags over his cheekbone. It’s tender and gentle and Eugene is desperate for it, pressing his forehead to Shelton’s. He’s moving too fast for them to lie still, kissing Shelton’s cheek as he keeps up the pace. Shelton closes his eyes and whimpers, and Eugene fucks into him again. It’s different, like this, too close and dark to see each other. He presses a hand to Shelton’s throat, and he can feel the way Shelton trembles under the touch. 

Hoisting Shelton’s hips forward with his free hand, he tightens the hold on Shelton’s throat and thrusts forward. Shelton whines and squirms against him. His hands hold Eugene’s face steady, and he’s whimpering soft and careful under his breath. 

“You’re — you’re beautiful.”

The lamplight is just high enough that Eugene knows Shelton sees him blush. Men aren’t supposed to be beautiful, and Eugene’s never felt as if he is before, but Shelton’s words make Eugene’s heart nearly burst from his chest. 

“God,” Shelton murmurs, running his hands over Eugene’s face, “Look at you.” 

He doesn’t talk like this, never in English. Eugene’s mouth is dry and he swallows nervously, shaking his head. It makes his hips stutter, but he recovers quickly at the way Shelton whines. Eugene’s at a loss of how to respond, but Shelton’s not waiting for him to. Fingernails scrape, pulling him close enough that his words are barely a whisper against Eugene’s mouth. 

“I love you, Eugene.”

He sounds lost in it, limbs draped over the back of Eugene’s neck. It’s like pinpricks on Eugene’s skin. It can’t be the alcohol, Shelton has been far drunker than he is now, but it’s as if something in him has been knocked loose. He pulls Eugene into a kiss, quick and sweet, and drags the hand resting on his hip to wrap around his cock. Heart hammering in his chest, Eugene nods. He moves his hand slow and tight against Shelton’s skin and watches as his whole body falls slack.

“My perfect boy,” he says against Eugene’s cheek, breathless and dizzy. 

It sparks down Eugene’s spine and he jerks forward, the hand still resting on Shelton’s throat pushing down to hold him flat against the floor. He feels Shelton’s pulse erratic under his fingers and fucks into him. He’s losing control of his pace, thrusts getting spastic as he comes. He doesn’t mean to, but the grip on Shelton’s throat must tighten, because he hears Shelton gasp for a rattling breath as his vision goes white, thoughts wiped clean as his every nerve rides along the edge of sensation. 

When he blinks back to himself, Shelton is trembling, breath trapped under Eugene’s hand. He drops it away, letting Shelton fill his lungs with air. He doesn’t realize until Shelton swears pitifully to himself that his other hand is slick with Shelton’s release. Dazed, he drops Shelton’s cock, wiping his hand clean on a discarded shirt. The way Shelton watches him feels too close, too intense, as if he knows something Eugene doesn’t.

“I’m not — I’m not perfect,” Eugene hears himself say, finally. 

Shelton doesn’t answer, and gets up to crawl into the cot. When Eugene stands, Shelton pulls him by the arm until he lies down beside him. He presses his back tight against Eugene’s chest and takes one of Eugene’s hands in his, lacing their fingers together so that Eugene can feel the ring rub against his knuckles. 

It’s quiet for a while, and Eugene adds, “I killed Japs same as you.”

There’s no response for what feels like an age. Shelton toys gently with Eugene’s fingers, running his fingertips over his palm.

“Hands are softer’n mine.”

It means something else, something Eugene can’t argue. He falls silent, and Shelton clasps Eugene’s hand back with his own and tucks them both under his chin. Eugene leans forward and buries his nose into Shelton’s hair, breathing him in as he falls asleep.


	15. Chapter 15

They’re blearily shuffling to breakfast the next morning when Burgie saunters up behind him and slaps Eugene on the back.

“Sent off the letter to my ma this morning.”

Eugene’s head is still splitting from the screaming horns that woke them this morning. Two nights of heavy drinking in a row are more than he can stomach. He can’t imagine getting anything done in the few hours they’ve had between roll call and now after the night they had. He’s at least happy for Burgie. When he gives him an encouraging smile, Burgie crams a handful of papers into his arms.

“I just need — you’re always writing. I trust you know what’s good.”

Beside him, he hears Shelton chuckle under his breath, but Eugene is flattered. He folds them neatly and tucks them into the pocket of his coat.

“I mostly just write tallies,” Eugene admits with a nervous laugh. “But uh — sure thing.”

He reads through the letters to Mr. Risely and Florence after breakfast, while they’re lounging in the courtyard. Shelton rests his head on Eugene’s leg, quietly keeping himself entertained, perfecting smoke rings and watching lazily as they break against the low drooping tree branches.

Both letters are respectful and honest. The one to Florence promises to give her everything he can and start a family as soon as she wants to — not a moment before. The letter to her father makes the same promises, though with a more distant, professional tone. But Eugene’s eyes linger on a line toward the end, written in neat, careful script.

“ _I have no intentions to steal your daughter away from you. With your permission of her hand I promise to make the trip whenever possible for her to see you._ ”

It’s an outlandish promise to make in Burgie’s case, but it weighs on Eugene’s chest. _So, what would mama and daddy have to say to you not comin’ home?_ Shelton’s right. His mother deserves better than for her son to just disappear after the war. It would devastate her. What _was_ he planning to say? What could he possibly tell her that would make his never returning home sound like a reasonable idea?

He loves his family. It shouldn’t be so easy to tear away from them, to act as if there’s no reason to go home. And it’s not that, not really. Just that there’s more reason not to. He looks down at Shelton, cigarette stubbed out at his hip. He’s dozing now, and Eugene watches him breathe. His fingers itch to touch his hair, but he’s afraid to rouse him.

Of course Eugene is scared. He doesn’t want to leave his family. But more terrifying — always more terrifying — is leaving Shelton. Shelton has been the only constant in his life since it turned upside-down. There’s no righting it again. He needs Shelton.

But his mother’s still alive. His father worries about him. He has a brother. He was going to school, he was going to get married, he was going to have sons. None of that seems right anymore, and Eugene had convinced himself not to focus on it, but now it’s crawling around his mind, shoving every other thought and focus to the side. He looks down at the letters in his hands and frowns. There’s nothing Eugene or Shelton could ever write that could excuse what they’re doing.

“Gene? Gene. Hey.”

Shelton’s awake and sitting up, leaning close to Eugene’s face. Eugene shakes himself from his thoughts and meets Shelton’s eyes.

“What’s the matter with you? You’re white as a sheet.”

“Nothing,” Eugene answers flatly. “I just — I’m gonna go find Burgie.” Shelton doesn’t look as if he believes him, so he gives the papers in his hands a firm shake. “Gotta get these back to him.”

He doesn’t bother to find Burgie when Shelton lets him up. Instead, he darts to his bunk and shuts the door behind him. He needs to be alone. Pressed against the door, Eugene thinks back to when this started, frantic groping in the sopping Okinawan mud. He remembers thinking in the beginning that this was his breaking point, that what he had with Shelton was just a way of going Asiatic. That couldn’t still be true, could it?

But what other explanation does he have? Why else would he be so willing to never see his mother again? To disappear without a word to his father, never to be in his brother’s wedding, and what’s worse, never letting them know why. The image of his mother trying to explain his disappearance is like ice in his blood. _“He survived the war,”_ she’d tell her friends day after day, _“I don’t know why, he just never came home. One day the letters just stopped coming.”_

He doesn’t realize he’s still holding Burgie’s letters until he reaches up to wipe the tears from his face. Angry, he drops the pages and watches them scatter across the dirty floor. Why should anyone be allowed to have this? How is it fair that there are people who don’t have to choose between their own family and the only person outside of it who makes them happy? Shelton’s the only person who knows Eugene anymore. His family will have to relearn everything as it is. There’s no going back to who he was before this war. He shouldn’t have to try.

There’s a knock on the door before Eugene can get a hold of himself. Shelton never knocks, so whoever it is, Eugene doesn’t care. He thinks, stupidly, if he says nothing that whoever it is will go away, but they only knock again.

“Sledgehammer?” Burgie’s voice is muffled from the other side of the door. “Snafu says you were lookin’ for me but I ain’t seen ya around.”

Rolling his eyes, Eugene mumbles, “Imagine that.”

The door jars hard into Eugene’s back, and Eugene swears in unison with Burgie’s hushed “ _Fuck._ ” Eugene sits back and Burgie pops his head around the door.

“What — you okay?” He catches sight of his letters strewn across the floor and frowns. With some effort, he shuffles past the ajar door into the room. “Hey… hey, what’s the matter?”

Eugene can tell from the sound of his voice that he regrets the words as they leave his mouth. He glances back at the door, toward the courtyard, and Eugene can tell the question he’s afraid to ask again, since the last time he asked it on new year’s eve. 

“He hasn’t — he’s fine.”

“Okay,” Burgie says with a quick nod. He sits on the edge of the cot nearest Eugene. “Then, um…”

He doesn’t want to ask. He doesn’t want to know. Eugene shakes his head. “It’s — it’s fine, Burgie. Really.”

“You sure took ‘fine’ out pretty hard on my letters, Sledgehammer,” Burgie points out playfully.

Eugene scoffs, smiling wider than he wants to as he drags the heel of his palm across his face. He’s not sure if it’s something off about his reaction to Burgie’s words or just that Burgie thought on it long enough, but dawning realization finally crosses his face.

“Oh…”

He sounds so contrite that Eugene flinches. He wants to be alone with this, he doesn’t even want Shelton to know. 

“I promise, it’s _fine,_ ” Eugene insists, but Burgie shakes his head, gathering up the paper and hastily reordering it without looking up at Eugene.

“I didn’t — I wasn’t thinking,” Burgie says carefully. “I just, uh. What — um… what did — I’m sorry.”

“Christ,” Eugene says under his breath. 

He wishes he could disappear. That they were somewhere else, somewhere Eugene could leave, to come hide in his bunk. He tries to think of something to say that would change the subject, some sort of stupid joke that would belie the remorse on Burgie’s face.

Before he can come up with anything, Burgie asks, “What’re you gonna do?”

It’s such a direct question that Eugene’s caught off-guard. He stares blankly at Burgie for a moment before admitting, “I don’t know.”

Burgie looks down at the letters in his hands and sighs. He doesn’t look up from them when he mutters, “You’re a good kid, Eugene.”

Eugene looks at his knees.

“You’ll — you’ll be all right.”

He sounds about as sure as Eugene is, but Eugene nods anyway.

“Do you want me to get — um… should I tell him you’re here?”

There’s no use in being alone anymore. Eugene nods again. When Burgie gets up, Eugene reaches for him, but hesitates and lets his hand hang awkwardly in the air between them.

“Burgie,” he says, looking up to see Burgie’s eyes on him. He drops his hand and smiles, honestly this time. “I’m — I’m sorry. They’re good. The letters, I mean.”

Burgie’s face lights up. “You think?”

“She’ll say yes,” Eugene presses, ignoring the sting under his ribs as he says it. “Guarantee it.”

Burgie looks for a moment as if he wants to say something similar. He licks his lips nervously and forces a laugh. 

“Thanks.”

It’s only a few minutes before Shelton charges into the room, crashing gracelessly into Eugene in the process. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” Shelton grumbles, stumbling to catch himself before he falls. “Too good to mope in the damn cot like the rest of us?”

Eugene forces a smirk, but doesn’t meet his eyes. Shelton’s buzzing with discomfort in a way he hasn’t since they were in country. His muscles are taut and his expression is pinched. Eugene doesn’t say anything, and Shelton gauges him quietly. When it becomes clear Eugene isn’t in a teasing mood, he runs his tongue over his teeth.

“Burgie says he’s the one found _you_.”

“Yeah.”

There’s no use in denying hiding the way he did, but Eugene doesn’t ask if Burgie told him anything else. Eugene will know soon enough. He doesn’t want to tell Shelton more than he has to. Shelton chews on his lip for a second before finally taking a seat on the floor next to Eugene. 

It’s unusual to see Shelton so quiet and resigned. It’s reminiscent of the day Eugene received the news that Deacon had died. The memory exhausts him, reminds him of yet another thing in his life back home that isn’t how he left it. He drops his head against Shelton’s shoulder. With a sigh, Shelton drapes his arm across Eugene’s back and places his chin in Eugene’s hair. After a beat, he shifts to press a kiss against the crown of his head. It’s quiet, but calming. Eugene feels the needling pain in his chest dissipate.

Whatever it is that Burgie told him, or maybe what Shelton figured out on his own, they don’t talk about it.

“Wanna watch me knock that Walters kid on his ass?”

“You couldn’t even beat Anderson,” Eugene teases.

Shelton jostles him with a snort before getting to his feet. He looks down at Eugene, and his face is so open that he must know. Burgie must have told him something — possibly _everything_ , but it isn’t as humiliating as Eugene had prepared for. He licks his lips before taking Shelton’s hand to lift himself up. Shelton grins at him, and the unspoken strain between them lessens. The worry of his family doesn’t go away, but it fades to the back of Eugene’s mind, enough that he can smile and kiss Shelton’s temple.

In response, Shelton squeezes his hand before dropping it to his side.

The rest of the day, Burgie regards Eugene with an almost aggressive normalcy, as if the conversation between them never happened. The only acknowledgement Eugene gets is Burgie announcing to a table full of half-interested second squad at lunch, “My proposal’s gonna be on its way to Australia in the morning.”

Redifer raises his eyebrows over his water glass. “Wanna see if we can get some drinks outta that?”

Snorting, Burgie shakes his head. “You mean again?” He throws a pointed look at Pete before looking back down at his plate. Shuffling the rice around his plate, he shrugs. “Nah, I — too nervous, I guess. Ain’t a sure thing, yet.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Pete grumbles, “Ain’t gonna be a sure thing til we’re headed home, anyway.”

Eugene and Shelton are silent, and Eugene wonders if that’s why Burgie insists not to go out. He wonders if Burgie still feels guilty, or if it’s more a sense of discomfort with something he’s been so intent to ignore the past few months. In the end, Pete and Redifer weasel a liberty pass out of Stanley anyway and go out on their own. Burgie claims to be exhausted and keeps to his own barracks for the evening. 

With little else available, Eugene curls up in their cot to get some reading done, comforted by the warm press of Shelton stretched out along his side like a lazy cat. He’s read the same sentence four times before realizing he’s distracted. It takes him a second to notice why, Shelton’s clever fingers dragging along his skin. He glances over, ready to scold Shelton for poking at him to get attention like a spoiled child, but the teasing words are seized from his throat before he can speak.

Shelton’s face looks entirely rapt with the rise and fall of Eugene’s sunken chest. His eyes are bright and unblinking as he connects the pale space between Eugene’s freckles with his finger. Shelton has never had such intense focus on his face, and Eugene doesn’t want to pull him out of it, watching him curiously.

His expression changes as his fingers reach the fragile white lines of the scars he’d left in Eugene’s skin, somewhere between fascinated and disappointed. He scratches gently over the grooves, reenacting a shadow of the gesture from Okinawa. He sees them differently now, Eugene can tell. Now, for some reason, he feels guilt.

“These the only flaw you got?”

Eugene snorts, because it sounds like a joke. It must be. Shelton has seen first hand the countless flaws that Eugene has. Shelton’s face doesn’t change, and Eugene raises his eyebrows. “What happened to what a dumb sap I am?”

No answer. Shelton’s gaze falls back on Eugene’s chest and he returns quietly to drawing over his ribs. It’s not about that, Eugene realizes. Shelton is only focused on what _he’s_ done, the changes he’s caused.

“I’m not perfect,” he insists again, a bite to his words this time. Shelton clicks his tongue, but doesn’t respond. His fingers are still trailing over Eugene’s scars, so he adds, “And I like them.”

Setting his book open flat over his chest, Eugene reaches across to Shelton and touches the faint lines carved pale against his own tawny skin. “They match yours.”

Shelton blinks down at his hands as if he’d forgotten he had his own set. He smirks, finally, but Eugene can tell it’s not enough to rattle the thought from his mind. Eugene can promise up and down that it’s the war that changed him, but Shelton will only ever believe it’s his fault.

Wordlessly, Eugene drops his book to the floor and shifts around in the cot until he can wrap his arms around Shelton and pull him close. Shelton makes a sharp squawk of protest, but Eugene doesn’t let go until Shelton relaxes against him.

“‘Night, Shelton.”

Shelton mutters something similar against Eugene’s shoulder. Eugene places a kiss on his temple, and Shelton’s fingers curl around Eugene’s dogtags. He sounds half-asleep by the time he finally mumbles, “Love you.”

That night, he dreams of his church back in Alabama. This time the pews are empty, lights low, and Eugene stands alone facing the pulpit. He keeps his eyes down and tries not to think about where his family’s gone, or Sid, or Mary Houston. Even the preacher is gone. It’s strange, because he can’t see him anywhere, but he knows Shelton is close. Standing outside, possibly. Waiting for Eugene to say his goodbyes. 

He wishes there were people here to say goodbye to.

For the next few days, being in the compound is horribly uncomfortable. Burgie can’t seem to decide how to treat Eugene, which makes their every encounter something Eugene starts to dread. One minute he won’t be able to even meet Eugene’s eyes, and the next it seems like he downright refuses to ignore him. He doesn’t bring up Florence, and when others do when Eugene’s around, he’ll only shrug awkwardly. It stands out as strange because it’s Burgie. Eugene always thought Burgie knew the depth of it, even before Eugene and Shelton did. It’s somehow shameful and a relief all at once, to know that they’re hiding it better than they thought.

He’s thankful to know Burgie doesn’t breathe a word to anyone. For all his own discomfort, Pete and Redifer act no different, and if anyone else catches on to how strange Burgie is acting around him or Shelton, they don’t mention it. The only one to notice besides Eugene is Shelton, who at least shows the decency to finally try and keep his hands to himself when Burgie’s around. Eugene has to remind himself to be thankful for that, as well. It makes Shelton needier when they’re alone. His touch gentler, as if constantly afraid Eugene will shatter in his hands. 

When they slide into bed at night, he curls tight around Eugene and presses soft kisses into his nape, face tucked close against his skin. It’s unsettling, much like carrying on conversations with civilians. Somehow off, as if he’s supposed to be something precious.

It makes Eugene’s skin crawl to be treated like he’s fragile. He gets a pass to go into town after rifle drills, but makes the mistake of mentioning it at breakfast. 

“Just wanna clear my head,” Eugene insists, but the notion alone seems offensive to Pete and Shelton.

“Clear your head from _what?_ ” Pete asks gruffly, “All the free time we’ve had? Damn shame. I need to clear my head, myself.” He slaps Redifer on the back, spraying his forkful of rice over the table. “What about you, Johnny? Clear that ol’ head of yours.”

“Christsakes, Pete.” Redifer glares at him, but Shelton doesn’t give him a chance to speak.

“How come we ain’t invited?”

Eugene rolls his eyes. “I didn’t —”

“Let’s all go,” Pete smacks his hand down on the table. “Hear the city’s a thrill ‘bout now. Gettin’ ready for the new year and all.”

“A month late,” Redifer points out with a smirk, and the others laugh. He looks over at Burgie, sitting across from him at the table, keeping his focus on his tray. 

“What’d’ya say, Burgie?” He asks, tapping his fork down in front of him. “A second New Years? Should be a gas.”

Burgie, to Eugene’s horror, smiles.

“Sure,” he answers, “Why not?”

The walk into town is daunting. Eugene’s afraid to even look up from his feet and falls behind the others, listening to Pete and Redifer talk animatedly. He can’t manage more than grunting out a response every time he hears them call out to him. It still feels unbearably tense between him and Burgie, especially when Shelton makes a point to stay an arm’s length away from him.

Eugene’s lost in thought when he hears Pete stop walking and let out a loud whistle. He looks up to see why, and whistles himself.

“Wow.”

The busy road ahead is bright and colourful enough that they can already see it, beautiful golds and reds glittering in the overcast winter sun. Next to Eugene, Burgie mutters, “Damn, Pete, you weren’t kidding.”

It’s easy for Eugene to forget the tensions on his shoulders when they make it through the gates of the city. It’s the same bustle from when they first arrived, though not as frightening as it had been before. The streets are glowing with red lanterns and bright red and gold paper banners flap cheerfully in the wind. Vendors shout at them from their carts, selling dumplings and candy to sample.

“Celebration start tonight,” a bearded vendor tells them when he sees their uniforms. He hands them some kind of meat wrapped around sticks. “Real sights to see!”

They watch a group of brightly dressed men carry an enormous, intricate dragon-faced costume through the street, standing it up on tall wooden stilts. Pete, who spends much more time in town than the rest of them, excitedly informs them that it’s meant to be a lion.

“They do this thing every year,” he says around a mouthful of pork bun, “called the lion dance. Gets pretty snazzy. Girl in town told me all about it.”

“Which girl?” Redifer asks with a disbelieving snort, causing the rest of them to follow suit.

A man dressed head-to-toe in the same brilliant red as the paper lanterns sells Shelton a sweet fried dumpling from a lacquer platter. He sits next to Eugene in the frosty grass to share it with him while they watch the street performers practice their routines for the night and storeowners hang paper decorations. It reminds Eugene of the funnel cakes they serve in the state fairs back home.

He’s licking sugary sauce from his thumb the moment he notices his ring isn’t on his finger. Panicked, he jumps to his feet, worried he may have lost it while wandering around the city. 

Shelton watches him sweep the ground in a quick circle before asking, “What’re you doin’?”

“I —” he can’t admit he lost his ring. It’s not even his to lose anymore. His throat closes at the thought and he shakes his head. “I must’ve — dropped…”

Shelton tilts his head, and Eugene keeps his eyes on the ground. He would’ve noticed it fall from his hand. It can’t be far. He squeezes his ring finger, checking the difference in the way it feels, and Shelton’s eyes widen.

“Oh,” he says, tapping his breast pocket. “I still — I got it.”

Relief washes over Eugene so suddenly it takes a moment for him to realize exactly what Shelton just admitted to.

“You —” he glances around quickly to make sure the other three are too far away to hear them. They’re all thumbing curiously through magazines several feet away. “You what?”

Shelton shrugs, as if it means nothing, but that isn’t right. It means something, Eugene just isn’t sure what. “What if someone notices?”

Shelton laughs. “ _You_ didn’t.”

It’s so much to realize at once that it makes Eugene dizzy, and he sits back down. “Why’d you keep it?”

Shelton furrows his brow. “You gave it to me.”

He sounds as if he finds the question ridiculous, as if their whispered, excruciating conversation Christmas morning never happened. Eugene opens his mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. Shelton isn’t wrong. Eugene wants him to keep it. Shelton’s eyes drop to the ground. His hand pats his pocket again, softer this time.

“You gave it to me,” he repeats, “It’s mine.”

Eugene looks down at his own hand, eyeing the pale band of skin where the ring usually sits. Being outside their bunk without it feels liberating, especially in the light of day. He hasn’t had it on all day and didn’t even notice, but now it feels as if his hand is tingling. Heart in his throat, Eugene nods.

“It’s yours,” he repeats to himself. 

Placated, Shelton holds his bundle of fried bread out to him again, and Eugene takes a pinch of it automatically.

“What’s that?” Pete asks as he walks up, eying the plate and stuffing a rolled up magazine under his arm. 

Shelton doesn’t offer him any, but if Pete notices as much, he doesn’t care. He grabs a handful and crams it into his mouth, Eugene can’t help but chuckle at the way Burgie and Redifer take his lead.

“Get your own,” Shelton snaps when Pete reaches for another bite.

At Pete’s ridiculous pout, Eugene smiles. “Aw, c’mon Snafu. Semper fi.”

Pete grins, sitting heavily in front of the plate, planting himself directly between Shelton and Eugene. Shelton tries to glare pointedly at Eugene when Pete doesn’t move, but at Eugene’s laugh, he can’t bite back the smile on his face.

They stay out later than usual to watch the festivals set up for the evening, but by the time the sun begins to set Burgie suggests they head back.

“Tomorrow ain’t nothin’ special to Stanley,” he says, tossing his garbage away. “Alarm’s still gonna go off at 0500.”

Grumbling, the small troop trudges back, taking any extra food they’re offered on the way out to pass out to the others at the barracks. Eugene notices Shelton’s fingers drum softly over his pocket every few minutes, and wonders if he’s done the same thing all day.

No one else knows, but now that Eugene does, it seems incredibly blatant. He could swear the ring weighs Shelton down, slowing his steps and dragging him behind the rest of them. When Eugene looks, his pocket seems to protrude out from his coat as if he’s smuggling Pete’s stray cat. But no one else notices. No one else could possibly know.

Shelton never takes the ring out, never even opens his pocket at all, but Eugene catches him tapping his fingers against his pocket as if it’s a habit he’s always had. No one says anything, all just as observant as Eugene had been, but now that he’s watching Eugene’s skin is hot with embarrassment every time he sees.

The four of them skip dinner at the mess, full of all the meats and breads from the festival, and Eugene and Shelton retire early to their bunk. Eugene reads stretched out on their cot while Shelton blows newly perfected smoke rings at the overhead.

Watching him, Eugene notices the ring has moved to his hand and smiles. He lazily drops his arm over the edge of the cot and takes Shelton’s hand. Without pause or question, Shelton takes his cigarette in his other hand and laces his fingers with Eugene’s, back of the ring warm and smooth on Eugene’s palm. He forgets his book, letting it slip a little in his hand as he watches Shelton relax.

“It’s gettin’ late,” Eugene tells him pointedly, dropping his book over the edge of the cot.

It isn’t that late. Most everyone else in the barracks is probably still awake, but Shelton enjoys a final inhale of his cigarette and nods, stubbing it out against the tile.

“Yeah, yeah.” He gets to his feet and stretches before pushing Eugene to one side of the cot with a playful nudge. “You’re worse than Burgie.” 

Eugene grins, nuzzling against Shelton’s neck as he lies down next to him. “What kind of wife would I be if I didn’t make you get your beauty rest?”

Shelton snorts, reaching back to flick teasingly at Eugene’s temple. Eugene only presses a kiss to his nape in response.

He’s not sure if it’s the blinding explosion of flares, or if it’s the way Shelton throws him to the ground that snaps him out of whatever dream he was having in the middle of the night. Disoriented and terrified, Eugene sees red light burst in the sky an instant before Shelton covers him.

“The fuck is the Goddamn mortar?” 

They’re not in the mud. There’s no rain. Eugene grabs Shelton’s arm before he completely understands what that means. Shelton tries to tear away from him, still searching for the bag of mortar shells, and Eugene can’t get his throat to work.

“Merriell —”

Another surging glow of red goes off in the night sky outside their window and Shelton swears. Eugene can feel him flinch hard in his grip before finally managing to rip his arm back. It’s not a flare, Eugene wants to say. It’s not gunfire, it’s not Japs. But Shelton won’t get off of him, and he won’t open his eyes. He’s searching blindly with his hands for something to fire. He’s flailing, and Eugene grabs for his arms again before Shelton can accidentally strike him in his frenzy.

“Stay the fuck down —,” Shelton shouts at him, shifting off Eugene to search farther for a mortar he won’t find. 

Finally given a chance to breathe, Eugene pushes forward and flips them, slamming Shelton’s back against the tile floor in hopes that it’ll jolt Shelton’s memory as it had his own. When Shelton struggles against him, Eugene holds him down.

“Merriell, it’s not — we’re safe.” He grabs Shelton’s neck and cradles his head, bowing close over him. His pulse is wild under Eugene’s fingers and he can’t catch his breath. He’s shaking so hard Eugene’s afraid he’s going to break apart. “Merriell, look at me. Look — look at me, we’re safe.”

With a sudden jerk, Shelton goes still, and Eugene can feel realization seep into his bones.

“We’re not — it’s not Japs,” Eugene assures him softly. “Fireworks. It’s just — it’s just fireworks, Merriell, we’re safe, we’re okay.”

It’s quiet while Shelton remembers that the world around him isn’t Okinawan mud and Jap guts, forcing his frantic breaths to slow. It’s only a few seconds before he shoves Eugene’s chest. 

“Get off me.”

His voice is tight, humiliated, and Eugene clicks his tongue.

“Merriell —”

He presses his forehead to Shelton’s in a hasty attempt to calm him, but another firework goes off with a _boom_ and shatters the silence around them. Shelton goes tense and twists out of Eugene’s grip, throwing a sharp elbow into Eugene’s chest. 

“I said get _off_ me!”

Eugene falls back against his heels and Shelton scrambles off his back. He’s still shivering, hands shaking as he gropes for cigarettes. Silent, Eugene picks Shelton’s squashed half-empty pack off the floor and hands it to him. Shelton snatches it and pulls one out with his teeth. His lighter is in his breast pocket, where Eugene’s ring had been.

The flame lights his face for a moment and Eugene can see clearly how pallid he looks, curls flat against his face with sweat. 

“Merriell…” Eugene reaches out for him, but he only shirks away, pressing tight against the wall.

“Don’t.” 

A bright red flash pours into the room again, and Shelton’s body goes rigid at the loud crack that follows. Eugene drops his eyes to the floor. He feels a bitter tang at the back of his throat as the humiliation rolls off Shelton in waves. He doesn’t try to speak again. Shelton doesn’t look at him. His hand is fidgety as it repeats the path to bring the cigarette to his mouth and back, over and over. He smokes it to the butt in complete silence and stubs it out on the tile before pulling out another. Eugene watches the floor as he does, counting the seconds in between each burst of colour and sound. He can’t bring himself to look at Shelton again, but he knows he flinches each time.

“Go back to bed, alright?”

“Are you gonna?”

Shelton scoffs, but doesn’t answer.

“Ain’t gotta take watch anymore,” Eugene tells the floor softly. 

“I fuckin’ know where I am, Gene.”

Eugene swallows. He hadn’t meant it that way, but still feels cruel for saying it, now. 

He nods without saying anything else. Shelton tosses his second cigarette butt to the ground, and Eugene watches him put it out with the heel of his hand. They don’t say anything to each other for three excruciating fireworks. Slower this time, Shelton lights a third cigarette.

“Go back to sleep, Eugene.”

Nodding, Eugene pulls the wool blanket off the cot and crawls over to Shelton curled against the wall. He places his head against his hip. Shelton jerks away from him, but Eugene grabs hold of him by his dungarees.

“If you’re not going back to the cot, then neither am I.”

He can’t see as he tucks his face against Shelton’s flank, but he hears the pointed exhale of smoke above his head.

“You’re stubborn as a fuckin’ mule.”

Instead of responding, Eugene kisses just below Shelton’s ribs, burrowing his face closer. With a sigh, Shelton drops his hand into Eugene’s hair, scratching his nails carefully along his temple. The next time the air outside breaks apart with a loud, red crash, Shelton’s hand is clenched in Eugene’s hair, but steady. Eugene is asleep before the next one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last scene in this chapter was very heavily inspired by [this art](http://blatterburystreet.tumblr.com/post/137428384417/thanks-to-headraline-for-everything) by tumblr user [blatterburystreet](http://blatterburystreet.tumblr.com/). HUGE thanks to them and their beautiful artwork! <3


	16. Chapter 16

Waking up on the floor feels somewhat familiar. If not for the winter air surrounding them and the roof over their heads, it’d be no different than waking up on Peleliu. He feels again as if he’s too old for his body, and listens to it creak when he sits up. He hadn’t meant to actually fall asleep on the floor, only to make a point to Shelton and convince him back to the cot, but he’s not surprised Shelton’s stubbornness outlasted his own. He glances over to see Shelton still asleep with his head dropped back against the wall, four more cigarette butts at his hip than Eugene remembers. The empty box is crumpled beside them, and Eugene wonders if he’d only stopped because he ran out.

“Merriell,” Eugene tisks, reaching to shake him awake. Shelton languidly grabs his wrist before he can, eyes sliding open to meet Eugene’s. Eugene licks his lips, willing himself not to react. “Did you sleep?”

Shelton’s silence is answer enough.

His eyes are dull and sunken before he drops them to the floor. Eugene feels his pulse stutter at the way Shelton’s thumb draws circles along the inside of his wrist. 

Clearing his throat, Shelton asks, “You sleep alright?”

Eugene nods.

“Didn’t —” Another uncomfortable cough. “Didn’t knock you too hard, did I?”

It takes Eugene a moment to even remember the way Shelton pushed him away. He shakes his head, eyes locked on Shelton’s fingers still tight like a vice around his arm.

“I’m… yeah, I’m fine.”

“Good.” 

Shelton doesn’t sound very convinced, but there’s nothing to convince him of. Without another word, Eugene gives his arm a gentle tug. Shelton lets go of him as if he’d been burned. When Eugene leans forward to kiss him, Shelton drops his head, letting Eugene plant a kiss on his forehead.

“I’m fine, Merriell,” Eugene insists quietly. He knows Shelton won’t even answer if Eugene asks how he’s feeling, so he doesn’t bother. Instead, he just kisses Shelton’s temple. “C’mon, get up. Let’s get some breakfast.”

As Shelton tugs off his ring, Eugene holds out his hand for it, but Shelton shakes his head. Eugene watches him place it in his breast pocket.

“I want it.” Shelton’s voice is quiet and oddly timid. 

Afraid to upset him, Eugene acquiesces. Something must be too obvious on his face, because when Shelton meets his eyes, he frowns. 

“I’m fine, Eugene.”

“I know,” Eugene lies.

Shelton doesn’t mention it again, not that Eugene expects him to. He can tell by the grim and drawn faces in the mess at breakfast that Shelton wasn’t the only one to react to the fireworks the way he did last night, but he knows better than to point it out to him. 

While they’re eating, a few of the newer recruits talk about going into town to see the second night of festivities. When the topic drifts their way, Shelton’s shoulders go tense.

“Might as well,” Pete tells the table, giving Redifer a friendly elbow to the ribs. “We only saw the setup yesterday. Might even be more free food in it.”

Instead of answering, Shelton jams a forkful of rice into his mouth and stares at the table. It’s not uncommon for him to be irritable in the morning, so no one goes so far as to ask questions, but Eugene knows, chewing uncomfortably at the inside of his cheek.

The day is tense. Shelton doesn’t say much more than various yes or no grunts to Eugene, and barely succeeds in as much with anyone else. Marines take liberty passes into the city in droves, until Pete barrels into Shelton and Eugene’s bunk to drag them along.

“I don’t think —” Eugene starts, but Shelton talks over him.

“Sure.” His voice is frank and too-loud, and he gets to his feet before Eugene can react. 

Pete raises his eyebrows at Eugene, and Eugene sighs.

“Sure,” he parrots back, defeated as he drops his book to the floor.

The city is twice as bright and alive as it had been the night before, everything decked out in brilliant shades of red. Girls have their hair tied back with gold ribbons and children run around with sparklers and decorative red envelopes in their hands. Eugene can see the extravagant beast costume from the evening before dancing to drum beats along the cobbled street and nudges Pete to point it out.

“Hey, yeah!” Pete shouts, waving his arms to get the attention of every Marine within shouting distance. “Fellas, look, it’s the Lion Dance! Told you it’s real.”

“We always thought the dance was real,” Redifer argues, “Just questionin’ about the girl who told ya about it.”

Pete shoves him, snatching the last pork bun from his hands to eat it out of spite. The rest of the Marines run ahead to watch the dance, but Shelton starts walking in the other direction. Eugene watches him go, but when he moves to follow him, Shelton shakes his head.

“Go on ahead, I’m just gonna buy some new smokes.”

Frowning, Eugene nods, turning on his heel to follow after Pete and the rest. He watches the Lion Dance with the others for a few minutes, but can’t bring himself to enjoy it with Shelton wandered off by himself. At least not after everything that happened last night. He mutters a half-thought excuse to anyone who notices him leave and goes off to look for him.

It’s strange, wandering the streets by himself. He feels the itch of panic he hasn’t felt in months, the hint of what had strangled his lungs when they first arrived. He hasn’t been on his own in public for so long Eugene’s forgotten what it’s like. He remembers enjoying it, once. But that was before. Back when Mobile felt like home instead of calloused hands and a crooked smile, back when he assumed a wife and children for himself and had never fallen asleep to someone else’s heartbeat. The farther Eugene walks, the more packed the streets become. It’s eventually so crowded that Eugene has to square his shoulders to avoid elbowing the locals. Men from carts are waving various food on sticks as Eugene passes by, calling out to him hopefully. He waves them off politely and keeps his eyes on the road.

When he spots Shelton, he’s seated at an empty bench with the collar of his coat turned up to hide the cigarette in his mouth, eyes on the horizon. Eugene sidles up to him as easily as he can and stands nervously to the side.

“Merriell?”

Shelton doesn’t look over, blowing a soft cloud of smoke into the air. “Gene.”

He feels as if he’s in trouble. Clearing his throat, Eugene mumbles, “The guys’re wonderin’ where you went off to.”

A hint of a smile flickers on Shelton’s face. “Yeah?”

It’s not a serious question, so Eugene doesn’t try to defend it. “You wanna head back?”

“No.”

With a sigh, Eugene sits next to him on the bench. He pretends not to notice when Shelton shifts uncomfortably. The commotion of the city is so loud that it’s incomprehensible. All the conversation is a language he doesn’t know. If Eugene concentrates, it’s almost as if there were no sound at all. The sun is starting to sink behind the horizon of the city, and Eugene hears the starts of firecrackers thrown by children in the streets. Shelton isn’t going to want to be here. In all honesty, neither is Eugene.

“Well, I do,” Eugene admits, trying to keep the hopeful tone from his voice. “It’s gettin’ dark, and I hate this racket.”

Miraculously, Shelton smiles. A quiet little scoff as he pulls the cigarette from his mouth to exhale. He glances at Eugene for just a moment, then taps the ash of his cigarette into the the chilly grass. 

“What’s that look for? Will it be my ass if I don’t get you home by midnight?”

“You’d have to ask Burgie,” Eugene teases. 

Popping his cigarette back in his mouth, Shelton gets to his feet. “Nah. I’d rather not risk it.”

They haven’t even made it down the road when Shelton asks, “Think the boys’ll still be lookin’ for us?”

“Oh, shit.” Eugene glances over his shoulder to watch the shrinking parade. “I forgot about them.”

Shelton snorts, flicking the butt of his cigarette to the frozen ground.

A few of the larger fireworks displays have started by the time they get to the compound. Shelton’s spine is ramrod straight and he stays five steps ahead of Eugene the rest of the way to the barracks building. When Eugene grabs for him to slow him down, Shelton rips his arm back and slams the door to their bunk in Eugene’s face.

“Hey!” Eugene throws the door back open to Shelton sitting on the floor, hands thrown over his head. “Hey…”

When Eugene approaches him, Shelton curls further into himself.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me.”

Eugene shrugs. “Alright.”

He takes a seat next to Shelton and pulls the pipe from his seabag, packing it in silence. When he’s finished, he turns to Shelton still balled up on the floor. 

“Bum a light?”

Metal skitters across the tile as Shelton tears his lighter from his pocket and sends it sailing over the floor. 

Eugene tisks. “Hell, you’re gonna scratch it.”

“You’ll just buy me a new one,” Shelton spits with his eyes still on the ground. “Carve some other sap shit into it.”

Eugene’s jaw snaps tight at the sting of the words. He takes time lighting his pipe to remember how to speak. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“Or _what?_ ” Shelton looks at him then, eyes dark and sharp in his sallow face. Another firework explodes out the window, and he snatches the pipe from Eugene’s hand. “Gimme that.”

“You just bought a pack.”

“It’s already lit.”

He’s trying to make a point of some sort, but Shelton isn’t used to smoking a pipe, and pulls away scowling like a child forced to eat his vegetables. He hands it back to Eugene and spits dramatically on the floor.

“Dunno how you smoke that thing.”

Eugene rolls his eyes and sits in silence as Shelton finds his own cigarettes. Eugene hands him back his lighter, and Shelton takes it, trying to look flippant as he runs his thumb over the engraving, checking for scratches. Satisfied, he lights his cigarette and inhales deeply.

His eyes flick to the window. He looks so much like he had the night before, pale and frightened and tired, and Eugene can’t stand it. He says the first thing to come to mind.

“Wanna get to bed?”

It’s barely after dusk, and Shelton sucks angrily at his teeth. He can sense he’s being patronized. He doesn’t answer, looking instead at the floor. 

After a while he mutters, “If you’re tired from sleeping on the floor all Goddamn night then be my guest.”

“At least I _slept_ on the floor.”

“I said I don’t need you babyin’ me,” Shelton snaps, throwing his half-finished cigarette down.

“Then quit actin’ like a damn baby.”

Shelton moves to elbow him, but Eugene snatches his wrist and shoves him back against the floor. The sky booms outside and the room fills with red light and Shelton’s eyes go impossibly wider. Afraid he’s done something wrong, Eugene pulls back, but Shelton’s hands are knotted in his sleeves, keeping him still.

“What —?”

Shelton cuts him off, jerking Eugene down by his arms to kiss him hard. Another firework bursts outside the window with a crack as Eugene’s eyes are screwed shut. Shelton’s hands are shaking in their grip. Carefully, Eugene reaches to cover them with his own, but Shelton laces their fingers together and pulls their hands down. He whimpers against the kiss, and Eugene can’t tell if it’s out of fear or if it’s a noise he means for Eugene to hear.

“What’re you doing?” Eugene asks as he pulls away.

“I’m not — nothin’.” 

The hand still clasping Eugene’s squeezes tightly as the other reaches up to guide Eugene back down by the neck. His fingers twitch as another firework goes off, but he buries his face in Eugene’s neck, muffling any sound and hiding any expression.

“Shelton…”

Teeth nip Eugene’s throat, barely a bite before Shelton places a kiss over the skin. He’s not going to talk about this, but he’s shaking too hard for Eugene to ignore.

“Shelton, c’mon, what is this?” He squeezes Shelton’s hand and runs his thumb soothingly over the inside of his wrist. “This your fairy act for the Navy boys?”

An unexpected tremor rolls through Shelton’s body. He nods, face still pressed into Eugene’s throat. Eugene’s mouth goes dry. The minute the words left him, he’d expected to anger Shelton, to start a fight that ended in a violent gnash of nails and teeth, but he can feel Shelton’s body slacken underneath him, trembling and desperate. It wakes something hungry in Eugene that pushes the next words out of his mouth before he can think.

“You let them get what they wanted outta you without a hastle?”

“You know swab jockeys,” Shelton says with a smirk, voice breathless. “Ain’t into much of a hastle with anythin’.”

Eugene licks his lip to keep from smiling. “Why you givin’ it to me now? I never got your fairy routine before.” 

Shelton’s breath catches at the word again, and Eugene forgets himself for a moment, leaning close to run his lips over Shelton’s neck. The room spills over in a red glow again, and Shelton’s body jolts underneath him.

It snaps Eugene back, and he shakes his head, tucking an arm under Shelton’s back to hold him close. 

“Merriell…” He clicks his tongue. “Let’s get off the floor.”

He tries to hoist Shelton up, but he wriggles out of Eugene’s grip. When Eugene frowns, Shelton focuses on awkwardly brushing the dust from his dungarees.

“Ain’t need you carryin’ me around,” he says without looking up.

It doesn’t seem that long ago that Shelton carried Eugene all the way back from the bar. But an explosion of scarlet out the window startles them both. Eugene ushers Shelton to the cot as gently as he can and doesn’t wait for the next firework before draping over him. Unlike the night before, Eugene’s weight seems to calm Shelton, at least enough that the loud crashes of fireworks outside only cause him to twitch, the deep catch in his chest quiet enough that Eugene can pretend he doesn’t notice.

He can still feel Shelton trembling, and shifts to kiss along his neck until Shelton runs a hand through his hair. His grip is a bit tighter than usual, but his hand is steady enough that Eugene at least feels as if he’s helping. Exhausted, he chews his lip to stay awake until Shelton’s hand goes still and limp on his neck.

It must be after midnight by now. The fireworks are long since over. Eugene listens to Shelton’s breathing, tracking the rise and fall of his chest. He doesn’t want Shelton to wake alone. He doesn’t want to risk sleeping through anything. He pulls one of Shelton’s hands into his own and tucks it close to his head before finally giving in to sleep.

As unnerving as it is for most of the Marines, the next few days are absorbed by the festivals in town. Shelton usually excuses himself from any of the trips into the city by saying he’s over all the ruckus and excitement. Each night, when they’re alone, he curls tight against Eugene and pretends he doesn’t flinch every time the fireworks go off.

It’s been a few nights, and Shelton has slept through enough of them for he and Eugene to let Burgie and Pete coerce them into enjoying the festival.

“We only have a couple weeks left in China,” Pete reminds them excitedly. 

It’s not something either Shelton or Eugene want to hear, not that Pete notices. At any rate, it works to get them out of the barracks. 

They received word on their official day to ship home three days ago, and since then nobody can resist doing anything stupid that Stanley would probably not allow if he knew. All anyone has to do to goad another Marine into anything now is bring up how little time they have left before going home. More fights have broken out in the past three days than they ever did in country, and several Marines have proposed drunkenly to young local girls — though each of them has rescinded the invitation once sober. Going into town to enjoy the festivities is hardly even worth the goading.

The party in the city is even wilder now than it had been the last time the two of them came along with all sorts of feasts and temple processions. It’s so loud and overwhelmingly gold and red that Eugene feels as if he’s inside one of the fireworks gone off outside their window. It makes his skin itch, and he reaches for Shelton. Light and quick, he runs the pads of his fingers along the inside of Shelton’s wrist. 

He can’t say anything, can’t touch him or look at him too long, but he can feel tension dissipate from Shelton when he steadies him. Just a gentle reminder. _I’m right here._

For the most part, Shelton keeps his head down and stays close to Eugene. If any of the others notice how quiet he’s being, they don’t ask. A lot of the Marines react similarly to all the commotion these days. Some of them hole up in their bunks or go on long walks in the opposite direction from the people to not be seen for hours. Compared to the others, Shelton’s reaction is nothing worth noting. When Eugene buys them taco rice from a vendor just off the street, Shelton eats it without nervously picking at it or surreptitiously throwing it away. To anyone who isn’t Eugene, he’s as good as normal.

But Eugene hasn’t worn his father’s ring even for a moment in over a week now, and Shelton is always asleep long before he stops shivering against Eugene every night. Eugene knows better than to bring it up, especially when Shelton is smiling at jokes Pete makes and scooping street food into his mouth as they wander the streets. At least for now, Shelton is fine. 

“You think they celebrate so long to make up bein’ so damn late to the year?” Pete asks curiously around a mouthful of fried meat. 

Shelton snorts. “Wonder if the year don’t start til they’re done makin’ such a fuss.”

It’s a teasing question, but when Pete doesn’t laugh with the rest of them, they realize they have no idea.

“I dunno, you’d think all this time China’s been around they’d have figured out a damn calendar.”

“Go ask somebody.”

“You’re the one who wants to know so bad!”

“You _started_ it.”

Burgie and Eugene try not to laugh as they watch them argue. Eventually, Pete throws down the little wooden stick his meat had been skewered onto and insists he at least knows more than Shelton, which has never ended well for anyone.

“It’s different every year, the date,” he says loudly, “So it could — I dunno, it might have somethin’ to do with when they stop with all the shindigs.”

Without a way to refute him, Shelton rolls his eyes and lets out a sigh as if he couldn’t be bothered to care less about Chinese New Year as it is. 

He waves him off by grumbling, “This shit only matter if you plan on stickin’ around, Fouts. You gonna kick your squad to the curb for some China doll?”

“Funny,” Pete snaps, but knows well enough to let it go when Burgie and Eugene cackle.

It doesn’t seem like they’ve been out long before the sun is setting. With curfew looming the small band turns back toward the Compound, abandoning the celebrations. Eugene almost enjoyed himself. Pete and Shelton have found something else to bicker over as they make their way through the crowds along the broad main road to head back to the base. He smiles at them, watching Shelton carry on easily, quipping and jeering like his usual self. He’s almost at ease, almost comfortable.

They’re meandering slowly among a thinner end of the crowd when a sudden rain of gunfire sounds nearby and the world dips from beneath them. Eugene’s head cracks hard against the cobblestones and he bites his own tongue. The air pops loud in his ear and he scrambles to cover his head.

“Get down!”

Shelton’s voice screams over top of him, his body pressing Eugene lands flat against the cobblestones. For a split second, Eugene can see Hamm lying dead on the ground beside him, and he can’t breathe.

But in a blink, a red flash, Hamm’s not there. There’s no gunfire. No flares or shells dropping. It’s just a squealing crowd of Chinese children throwing firecrackers to the ground a few yards away. A small crowd of locals has gathered in an arc around them, confused and scolding them in Mandarin. Eugene’s throat is raw as if he’d screamed. He shuts his eyes tight, afraid to look up and see Shelton staring down at him, that harrowing terror on his face. He can’t tell if he’s more frightened to see Shelton still trapped on Okinawa, or to see Shelton humiliated to realize that he isn’t. 

Pete’s voice is the first to cut through the commotion, startled but soft. “Jesus, Snaf, it’s alright! It’s just —”

“Fuck off.”

Shelton shoves off of him, forcing himself up against Eugene’s back. Eugene stays down on the cobblestones, head bowed. He hears rustling, shoving — Shelton pushing one of the others off of him — followed by the hurried footfalls of Shelton running ahead of them, losing him in the shouting crowd. Eugene lets out a long, helpless breath and stays rooted to the ground. When a hand grabs his arm, he flinches.

“You all right there, Sledgehammer?” Burgie’s voice has never been so quiet. It’s hard to hear over all the commotion of the streets still smothering Eugene. When he nods, Burgie helps him to his feet and changes the subject. “Snafu’s, uh, he’s run on ahead.”

It’s a little embarrassing to realize his eyes are still closed. When he finally opens them, Pete is standing there too, looking oddly guilty, as if attempting to comfort Shelton over Eugene is somehow comparable to being the one throwing firecrackers at his feet. It’s possible that it is, to Shelton. Eugene wishes he could apologize.

“Um, you sure you’re alright?” Burgie asks, waving a hand in front of Eugene’s face. “You hit the ground pretty hard, there.”

“I’m fine.” His voice comes out harsher than he means it to; defensive. Burgie drops his arm to his side, and Eugene’s apology shrivels on his tongue before he wants to say it. He turns to see if he can spot Shelton ahead of them, but their bemused audience makes it impossible to see down the road at all.

“I’m —”

There’s no point in thinking of an excuse. Eugene turns on his heel and races down the main road toward the compound, hoping that if it’s not where Shelton’s gone, then at least he’ll catch him on the way.

By the time Eugene’s made it to the base his lungs are throbbing. He doesn’t realize until he’s at the barracks that he ran nonstop. He tastes copper at the back of his throat and his legs have gone numb. He stumbles into their bunk with his chest aching, and relief crashes over him like a wave at the sight of Shelton curled up on their cot.

“Merriell —”

“Don’t start,” Shelton growls, wheeling on Eugene, but the glare on his face falls when he takes in the way Eugene drops beside him, panting. “The fuck happened to you?”

“I — you ran off.”

The glare is back in an instant. “Said I don’t need any of you fuckin’ babyin’ me.”

Eugene is still out of breath. “Merriell —”

“Get _away_ from me.” 

He shoves Eugene back, and Eugene catches himself on his elbows. Shelton’s face shows regret in the next instant, but he’s too stubborn to apologize. Eugene’s throat is dry and cracked, and he swallows loudly and coughs as he sits back up.

“I’m not — trying to baby you, Merriell. You’re not — you’re not the only one got spooked.”

Shelton frowns and rolls over to lie back down on the cot, facing away from Eugene. He scoffs, but doesn’t bother to say anything else. Eugene reaches out and touches his arm, but Shelton pulls away from him. Undeterred, Eugene gets to his feet, and notices his ring on Shelton’s finger as he stands over him.

He sits at the edge of the cot, careful not to touch Shelton, and says quietly, “Crowd was so big out there I don’t think anyone noticed.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Don’t…” It’s not unexpected, but Eugene balks at how much it stings. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do _what?_ ” Shelton asks, glaring at the wall.

Eugene feels vulnerable and foolish, and the words are suddenly like ash in his mouth. He scratches the back of his neck and feels how burned his skin is from the winter sun. 

“I — don’t act like I’m… like I can’t help.”

“Help?” Shelton turns his head, raising his eyebrows. “That what you doin’? ‘Cause I can get better help from a quiff in town for half the trouble.”

An uncomfortable swoop rolls through Eugene’s stomach. “What does that mean?”

“Means I got plans tonight, I guess.” Shelton’s voice is snide. “Maybe all I need to cure the shakes is a better fuck.”

Eugene’s hands go numb and he sees red. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Wrong with _me?_ ” Shelton flexes his left hand, eyes on Eugene’s ring. “You’re the one plannin’ to run off to God-knows-where and never see that perfect fuckin’ family of yours again. Figure out that letter of yours, yet? The one tellin’ your ma you’d rather fuck some dirty Cajun boy for the rest of your life than come home to them?”

“ _Stop it._ ”

“Wrong with _me._ Fuckin’ rich. Few months of bein’ sweet on you and you drop to your knees in an alley like a damn —”

“Shut up.” He tries to keep his words clipped, but they come out wounded and soft anyway. He feels sick and dizzy, and drops his head in his hands. “Why’re you — why would you say that?”

“You ain’t seem like you were gonna figure it out.”

It tears into his chest, and Eugene wills himself to sound flat, distant. He can feel tears welling in his eyes, but he won’t let Shelton know.

“Then why not just go?”

A pause. The creak of Shelton sitting up. Eugene won’t look over. “Go where?”

“Go find some whore.” 

When Shelton doesn’t respond right away, Eugene finally works up the nerve to look over at him. It’s obvious he’s crying, but if Shelton notices, he doesn’t react to it. He shrugs, and then tisks, as if he’s the one to be disappointed.

“Thinkin’ for your good, too. Finally get yourself a night’s rest if I ain’t here to wake you up.”

“Hell, Shelton, why stop there? Why not just buy a local girl to bully off some farmer down on his luck?” Eugene swings his arms, making Shelton flinch as if afraid Eugene will strike him. “Go on and make yourself some kids to knock around if it’s not enough for you to fuck up everyone you already know.”

It’s harsher than he means to be, especially after the meaning of what Shelton just said sinks in. Shelton stares back at him as if he’s been slapped, and Eugene tastes guilt hot and metallic at the back of his throat. Pride and fury won’t let him take it back, not after the things Shelton said. Eugene sighs, chews hard at his lip. He has more vicious thoughts still crawling under his skin, but the look on Shelton’s face makes them foolish to say. With no better option, Eugene stays silent. 

They don’t move for what feels like hours. Shelton’s eyes drop to his knees. When he breaks the silence, his voice cracks.

“I — I won’t.”

Eugene feels abruptly tired. “Won’t _what?_ ”

“Go — uh.” He clears his throat, and Eugene realizes with a horrified pang that he might be schooling his voice, too. “I don’t want any whores or locals.”

“Flattering,” Eugene snaps, bitter.

“Gene, I — I didn’t mean it.”

Eugene doesn’t want to mean anything he said, either, but he doesn’t believe Shelton anyway. He’s quiet long enough that Shelton lies back down. It’s not fair that he can push Eugene away like he’s not all Shelton has, too.

“You started all this,” Eugene finally points out. Shelton nods, but Eugene scowls at him. “No, I — say it. I want to hear you tell me.”

For a moment, Shelton doesn’t say anything. Finally, he coughs, too-loud and awkward.

“I started it.”

“You kissed me first.”

A long pause. “I did.”

“You — you told me you love me.”

“I do.” 

There’s no pause then, and that’s enough. Eugene doesn’t say anything else, turning his attention back to his knees. Time drags, and neither of them say anything. Finally, Eugene gives in and runs his fingers over Shelton’s arm again.

This time, Shelton doesn’t pull away.

“I didn’t — I didn’t mean it, either.” Eugene says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

There’s an odd look on Shelton’s face before he nods, understanding.

“You, uh.” Shelton clears his throat. “You landed like a sack of rocks when I — back in the city.”

Snorting, Eugene shrugs. “I’m alright.”

For some reason, it makes Shelton shake his hand off and look away. 

Eugene tries again, “I got a harder head than you all seem to think.”

When Shelton turns back to face him, Eugene smiles. He tries again to touch Shelton, this time running his fingers gently over the hand wearing his father’s ring. Shelton watches dully as Eugene laces their fingers together. He doesn’t move away again, and Eugene’s afraid to say the wrong thing. They sit in silence long enough that Eugene’s back starts to ache from the way he’s bent over their cot. 

Without moving his head, Shelton pins Eugene with a look. “Doesn’t get to you, does it?” 

“It does.”

He’s not sure if it’s the answer Shelton wants, but Eugene answers too quickly to lie, anyway. Shelton’s mouth twitches, silent, and Eugene shrugs. “The — the lights and sounds and all. The nightmares. It — I think about it, too, I mean.”

Without answering, Shelton’s eyes slide closed. He sighs loud through his nose, and when he opens his eyes again, they’re pointed at the wall. Eugene’s spine is burning, so he resituates, spooning against Shelton’s back. He feels Shelton go tense, and grabs his hand again, placing a kiss at the base of his neck. He stays perfectly still against Shelton’s back until he feels him relax.

“You don’t — you don’t always gotta be the one to take care of me,” Eugene tells him, voice low. “I can take care of you, too.”

Shelton’s only response is a quiet huff.

When the fireworks begin to go off at dusk, Eugene squeezes Shelton tightly to his chest, burying his face against his shoulder blades. Shelton doesn’t say a word, but Eugene can feel Shelton’s heart racing underneath his fingers, hears his breathing stutter, and knows he’s awake throughout most of the night.

It’s hard to tell if it’s fault of Shelton’s outburst or just because the celebrations are finally starting to die down, but the guys don’t invite Eugene or Shelton to go with them into the city again. Shelton would turn them down, anyway. For two days he’s too humiliated to speak to Pete or Burgie at all, and neither of them make any attempt to break the silence first. When Shelton finally does, he acts as if it never happened, and everyone else plays along.

None of the others hear about what happened in the city. As gossipy as Marines can be when left to their own devices, another man cracking up is never a topic of discussion, even after the war is over. 

The fireworks are something Eugene has forced himself to ignore. He’s scratching notes into his bible to distract himself, so he doesn’t realize how late it is when Shelton props up onto his knees on top of the cot to squint out their tiny window.

“It’s quiet.”

Eugene looks up, unsure if he should smile. “Yeah.”

“Guess they’re finally done celebratin’.” He drops back to sit at the edge of the mattress to loom over Eugene’s shoulder.

“Guess so.” Eugene goes back to his bible, but Shelton snatches it out of his hand. He brings it to his face and flips through to the pages of tallies.

“You keep record of how long it’s been?”

“Since — since their new year? Yeah, I —”

“I mean since you fucked me.”

Eugene feels his cheeks burn. “Oh, um.” It feels wrong to admit, but he has. “I can —”

He reaches for his bible, but Shelton tosses it across the room, uninterested. When Eugene turns his head to watch it sail through the air, Shelton grabs his wrist and pulls him up into the cot, dragging Eugene over him. 

“‘Bout time for a reset.”

He wrestles Eugene out of his coat with single-minded determination, but Eugene pulls back, anxious. “I — are you sure?”

With a soft, impatient whine, Shelton squirms, pressing himself entirely into Eugene. Even through all the layers between them, it’s been long enough that Eugene forgets whatever it was he planned on saying. Shelton keens as he shuffles out of his dungarees. His hands move deftly to open Eugene’s dungarees and push them down his hips, fingers trailing light and soft over his skin. 

It’s only been thirteen days since they last had sex. Not nearly long enough for it to feel like the first time all over again, but the touch causes Eugene’s breath to catch and his heart to pick up in his chest. Noticing, Shelton clicks his tongue, cooing knowingly.

“You — you like it? You like takin’ care of me?” 

Eugene nods, copper hair hanging in his face as he tries to keep a respectable distance from Shelton’s writhing body. His throat is too dry to answer. Shelton cups his cheek with a grin and guides him down into a kiss. 

He doesn’t pull away, voice light and breathy into Eugene’s mouth when he whispers, “Well then take care of me.”

“Merriell —”

“Please, Eugene.”

His voice is quiet, almost girlish. It’s the ‘please’ that gets Eugene to nod again without a second thought. He hates that Shelton can play him this easily, but Shelton raises his eyebrows, reading Eugene’s reaction. 

His voice is needier when he speaks again. “Fuck me, Gene. Please.”

Frustrated, Eugene slams Shelton’s wrists back against the cot to hold him still, but Shelton whimpers and arches off the cot to rut against Eugene. 

“I ain’t a damn swab jockey,” Eugene grinds out. “I don’t need your fairy act to fuck you.”

Shelton nods, panting as he squirms against what he can reach of Eugene. His voice is a thin rasp that crawls down Eugene’s spine. “Aw c’mon, now. You wanna try it, don’t you, baby? See what it’s like?”

The nickname causes Eugene’s hips to respond before the rest of him can, and Shelton grins at him.

“That’s it.”

It has to be a good sign that Shelton wants sex. Eugene hopes it is. Since the fireworks and clamour and celebrations started in the city, Shelton sleeps facing away from him at night and turns away when Eugene tries to kiss him. It wouldn’t feel right to deny him now that he’s asking for it. Eugene bows his head to kiss down Shelton’s neck, a shiver rolling over his shoulders at the way Shelton sighs in his ear.

“Is that what you want, Shelton?” he asks, reaching for his rifle oil. “Wanna play fairy for me?”

Shelton purrs and smiles. He presses harder against Eugene, the ridge of his cock firm against Eugene’s thigh. The air is thick between them, already heavy and wet and hard to breathe. Eugene folds over Shelton to kiss the sweat from tawny skin. Fingers grip tight and brief in his hair, and Eugene’s mouth runs ahead of his good sense. 

“Can you be as good a fairy for me as you were for them damn Navy boys?”

“ _Yes._ ” 

He sounds dizzy and small, face tucked into Eugene’s shoulder as Eugene moves slick fingers against him. Eugene leans back to watch Shelton’s face, his free hand cupping his chin to run his thumb over Shelton’s parted mouth.

“You like me callin’ you that. Don’t wanna be the wife, but you like bein’ the fairy.”

“Mhm.”

A chill runs through Shelton as he answers, but the words don’t even seem to register on his face. His eyes are glassy and distant, staring past Eugene. His eyes roll back as Eugene presses the first finger inside him, and something primal stirs from the base of Eugene’s spine at the sound of his soft, high-pitched gasp.

When Eugene leans in to kiss Shelton’s neck, he can feel the pulse hammering against the thin skin of his throat and gives in to biting, just once, firm but gentle. Shelton whines, and Eugene feels the hair at his nape stand on end. He can’t tell if the blood pounding in his ears is his or Shelton’s anymore, and wonders if Shelton can hear his quiet murmuring over the sound any better than he can hear himself. 

“You — want me to protect you.” Shelton doesn’t answer, but throws a leg over Eugene’s back as he slides in a second finger. “You like it, me takin’ — takin’ care of you. Roughin’ you up. Say you don’t, make a big show of it, but you do.”

“Fuck me,” Shelton whimpers, spine arched off the cot. “Please fuck me.”

“Merriell,” Eugene growls, and Shelton responds instantly, eyes snapping to Eugene’s face, his chest heaving. Abruptly, Eugene’s not sure what he had planned to say, but the sight of Shelton in front of him now causes different words entirely to fall from his mouth. 

“You’re so pretty when you beg.”

“ _Merde._ ” 

Shelton’s body jerks in Eugene’s arms, his head falling back against the threadbare mattress. He’s squirming so much Eugene has to use his free hand to hold his hips still, pressing his face against Shelton’s jaw. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, heart beating so fast and hard it feels as if his ribs will crack. He feels unnaturally confident like this, as if he controls Shelton’s every breath.

Something angry and familiar tingles at Eugene’s every inch, desperate to tear into Shelton’s skin, to wrench at his hair and bite into everywhere he can reach. Shelton is helpless for it, asking for it, wants it. Eugene could do anything to Shelton and he’d only plead for more. All the rage Eugene had built up under his ribs, ready to rip a Jap limb from limb with his bare hands — he can give it all to Shelton, and Shelton would only love it.

He’s never felt this powerful.

“Beg me.”

“Please,” Shelton responds instantly, eyes dark and wide as he shivers against Eugene. “Please fuck me, please, I need — _fuck!_ ”

Eugene slams into him so hard he has to cover Shelton’s mouth with one hand to muffle his scream. Shelton bites into his palm, and it sends sparks down Eugene’s arm and through his spine. Jagged nails scratch red angry lines into Eugene’s arms, Shelton’s legs kicking desperate against his waist. It lights Eugene on fire from the inside out, licking hot along the ends of his nerves.

“Everyone back home’s seen you like this, ain’t they?” Eugene snarls, and Shelton’s neck snaps like a whip. “I’m just about the last person alive to get this show.”

Shelton nods limply and mumbles drunkenly against his hand as Eugene pistons his hips. The air is hot and Shelton’s body is slick underneath him. The room feels like it’s spinning around them, but Eugene can’t look away from Shelton to be sure. He can’t even blink. His focus is pinned on the dazed look on Shelton’s face, the soft little whimpers he has trapped behind his fingers.

“They didn’t teach you to keep quiet down at the Navy yard?” Eugene hisses, his hand slipping, down Shelton’s chin.

A breathy giggle bursts from Shelton’s mouth. “Usually just — got some boy’s cock down my throat.” 

The shiver that runs through Eugene jolts them both, and the smirk on Shelton’s face melts into a quiet groan. Frantic, Eugene wraps his hand around Shelton’s throat and squeezes, watching the silent gasp drag from his lungs.

“That’s it,” Eugene mumbles to himself, hips picking up speed as Shelton claws at him.

Tears well at the corners of Shelton’s eyes as Eugene drops his free hand just below Shelton’s navel, fingers teasing just along the base of his cock. A choked off whine bursts from Shelton’s lungs, but Eugene only fucks into him, entranced at the look on his face. He’s so needy and fragile like this, it’s like lightning under Eugene’s skin. Shelton must know Eugene could snap his neck this way — kill him as quick and easy as any Jap would have — but the look on his face isn’t anything like the fear he’d seen in country, or even at the explosion of fireworks just outside. He trusts Eugene. He knows him. He loves him.

“Merriell…” 

The mask almost slips, the words on the tip of his tongue. _I love you._ But that isn’t what Shelton needs to hear now. He licks his lips, falling back into the rhythm of the way their bodies slide together. 

“Did you always ask nicely for the Navy boys?”

A whimper, tight against Eugene’s grip. Shelton nods. 

“Good.” He fucks hard into Shelton and loosens the hold at his throat, just barely. “Lemme hear it, then.” 

Gasping to catch his breath, the tears in Shelton’s eyes finally fall into his curls slick against his temples. One of his hands finds Eugene’s on his stomach and briefly squeezes his fingers.

“Please,” comes out of his mouth in a rasp. 

It seeps through Eugene’s skin and he moans, bursting out of him so suddenly it sounds more like a shout in the quiet room. Spurned by the sound, Shelton’s eyes drop closed and he tugs helplessly at Eugene’s fingers in his grip, dragging his hand toward his cock.

“Please.”

Eugene can feel his heartbeat in his throat, beating rapid and frenzied in time with Shelton’s pounding against his fingers. He wraps his free hand around Shelton’s cock, his body moving with Shelton’s as he arches clear off the cot. Shelton cries out, voice high and choked, and he’s never belonged to Eugene so completely as he does like this.

Shelton’s voice is slurring and quiet as he gets closer, and Eugene drops his hold on Shelton’s throat to hear him begging softly in between the words he can’t understand.

“Come for me, please. _Please_.”

Even like this, Eugene’s compelled to do what Shelton asks, his body responding automatically to the words. He falls forward against Shelton’s chest, hips erratic as he tips over the edge, warmth spilling over him as his eyes roll back. The hand at Shelton’s cock doesn’t stop through his release, and he can hear the desperate little whimpers of Shelton’s against his ear just before his spine goes rigid. Eugene feels him come without a sound, and his hand falls away slick. 

For a while, they lie limply tangled in each other as they catch their breath.

“Better than a swab jockey?” Eugene asks over a breathless laugh. 

Shelton snorts. “You been better than a swab jockey from the start.”

It sounds like a line, but Shelton’s too loose and sated to think up anything but honesty. Warmth pools in Eugene’s chest. He runs his fingers over Shelton’s cheek and curls tighter against him. Shelton means that. 

He doesn’t know how long they’ve been lying in silence when he mumbles against Shelton’s chest, “Merriell?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

For a moment, that’s it. But then fingers thin and careful run through Eugene’s hair, tucking a stray piece behind his ear.

Soft and fond, Shelton answers, “Yeah.”

They pull the wool blanket over themselves without redressing. It’s too warm in their room to bother. They’re only lying still for a moment before Shelton sighs, shifting on the cot to fish into his dungarees on the floor. He doesn’t move his arms from around Eugene as he wrestles cigarettes and his lighter from his pockets. When he offers the pack to Eugene, Eugene takes one, mildly perplexed.

None of this has been anything like him, really, and when Shelton lights Eugene’s cigarette before his own, it’s too out of the ordinary to ignore.

“What — uh,” Being too serious might upset him, so Eugene tries to smirk at him instead. “Dry spells turn you into a bit of a harlot, don’t they?”

“Don’t be a smartass,” Shelton answers around his cigarette.

Eugene fiddles with his own, feeling silly. “I liked it, don’t get me wrong —”

Shelton’s grin is just visible in the dim light. “Yeah?”

Flustered, Eugene ignores him. “Did — did you?”

“Hard to tell?” Shelton raises his eyebrows over a long drag of his cigarette. 

“I mean, I —” Eugene puts the cigarette to his lips to sort his thoughts. “Is that always an act for the Navy boys, or do you — do you like actin’ like that? Thought you liked being a tough guy.”

No answer. Cigarette between his teeth, Shelton leans up on his elbows with a grunt. “What about you, Gene?” He tilts his head and blows smoke out the side of his mouth. “You like chokin’ the life outta me?”

“I…” He does, but it sounds like a test. He doesn’t know what answer Shelton wants.

“Ain’t much to it. It’s good like that. Hadn’t had it in a couple years.” When Eugene doesn’t have a response, Shelton drops back against the cot, taking the cigarette from his mouth to nip playfully at Eugene’s ear. “And you like playin’ wolf, don’t you? You ain’t half bad at it, y’know.”

His breath is smoky and hot against Eugene’s skin, and tickles along his throat. He pulls back to take another drag of his cigarette before twisting off the cot to loom over Eugene. 

“It’s alright. You can like bein’ rough with me, _cher._ I like it, too.”

Silent, Eugene reaches up to rest his hand where it had been against Shelton’s throat. He lets it sit limp, just resting, until Shelton smiles at him.

“Gonna have to get rougher’n that to hurt me any.”

Letting his hand fall away, Eugene smiles, somewhat hesitant. He remembers, months ago, promising he’d stop Shelton from ever hurting him. He wonders if Shelton is lying, too. The silence feels unreal after a week of fireworks outside their window, and they soak up the quiet while finishing their cigarettes.

When Shelton tosses the stubbed out butt over the edge of the cot, he takes advantage of leaning over Eugene again to kiss him, long and tender before curling up on Eugene’s chest. Eugene flicks his half-finished cigarette away and wraps tight around Shelton to fall asleep.


	17. Chapter 17

The time they have left in Peking is diminishing faster than Eugene is ready for. Days are going by in pairs and weeks, running together. For all the boasting from the other Marines, he’s not the only one nervous to leave. Burgie checks the mail truck several times a day, checking and double-checking that he hasn’t missed a letter from Florence. Redifer stays in the city past curfew most nights, but with their departure date so close the NCOs pretend not to notice. Pete, as a shock to no one, complains he hasn’t slept with enough Chinese girls yet.

“Keepin’ a tally?” Mac asks him over lunch, “Or by ‘enough’ do you just mean ‘one’?”

“Should go back to the old Chinaman who sold you them dumplin’s,” Shelton offers with mock seriousness. “They helped you put away quite a few the first time.” 

Pete takes a canned peach from his tray and slings it at Shelton’s face. He misses, and it lands on the table with a wet _plop._

Eugene copes by writing letters, none of which he sends. He hasn’t sent a letter home in weeks, and the stack of unopened envelopes in his seabag is enough that they cram against the tarp. With their time in Peking running out so quickly, Eugene uses it as practice. Apologies to his mother. Explanations to his father. Begging understanding from Sid and his brother. _I can’t come home_ he writes a thousand different ways, _I’m sorry. No apology could ever explain my choice. I can’t be the person I was anymore. I can’t be the son you want anymore. The brother you want. The friend you want._

Though the free time Eugene has to write is often interrupted anyway. Shelton’s method of coping is to drag Eugene somewhere secluded and pin him down, leave him riddled in bitemarks and bruises. The closer they get to their ship-off date, the more Shelton wants to hear him talk. It’s impossible to ever tell him no when he’s breathing desperate in Eugene’s ear as he rides his cock.

“Say it,” he pleads, straddling Eugene’s hips as they’re tucked behind a fence outside the city, their clothes still halfway on. “Tell me. Go on.”

“I love you,” Eugene starts, but Shelton wants more than that now. He thrusts up into Shelton and pulls him close so that Shelton curves over him, taking his cock in his hand. “Tell you — every day. Can — teach me how to — how to be your little housewife…”

“Gene —” He won’t blink, never does. Even with the way Eugene is touching him, he doesn’t shut his eyes. He cups Eugene’s face as he watches him. It feels like their last time on the beach before the Japanese surrendered, like Shelton is ready to die for him again. “Tell me, Gene.”

He’s so soft like this, needy. Eugene nods. He wants to give him everything. “I love you,” he manages again, hand moving frantically. “Always will.”

“Yeah?” Shelton’s teeth are clenched to keep himself quiet. 

He sounds shocked, so Eugene nods and repeats himself. “Always.”

When Shelton comes, he puts a hand over Eugene’s mouth, as if he’s the one shouting. Eugene follows soon after and for a split second he remembers the way Shelton reacted when Eugene first made this promise.

 _“You’d stay with me?”_

They collect themselves quickly. There’s no one around for at least a hundred yards, but the danger of getting caught is never as appealing once they’re done. Shelton leans against Eugene’s side as he lights a cigarette, and Eugene lets himself say it back.

“I’ll — I’ll stay with you.”

Blowing smoke from his mouth in a wide, flat cloud, Shelton turns his head to kiss Eugene’s neck.

“Yeah, I know you will.”

China ends, just like that, and Eugene isn’t ready. It feels like leaving home, except even more daunting, more final, because unlike the uncertainty of whether or not he’d ever return to Mobile, Eugene knows deep in his bones that once they leave he’ll never set foot in China again. Two days later, as they’re packing their seabags to head to the docks, Shelton presses Eugene’s ring into his hand.

“You keep it while we travelin’.” He rubs the naked band of his finger without looking at Eugene. “They gonna notice it on me.”

He’s not wrong. Even the trucks they file into at dawn that take them to the docks are crowded little spaces that bring back the memory of foxholes. After months bunked up only two to a whole room, it feels like everyone is watching them. Eugene keeps his eyes on his hands, twirling his ring over his finger.

The ride starts off quietly. It’s barely sunrise and the city is almost silent, chilly, with dew still clinging to the paper lanterns. Merchants and labourers scurry down the cobblestone roads to another day’s work. White stone lion sculptures guard the entrance to a temple as the convoy of trucks motors by, looking almost like living beasts in the weak morning light. Even with how excited everyone is to get back to their real homes, there’s a morose sense of attachment to Peking. It was their first shelter, their first city after living like animals in the mud for two years. This was a place where they could sleep soundly for the first time in years, where locals greeted them kindly, and every day consisted of hot showers and warm food. Peking had taken care of them, nursed them, made them men again. None of them feel ready to be kicked out of the nest. 

A few of the newer recruits start up a conversation on what they’re excited to see most when they get to the states.

“Fireplaces,” Gibbons says with a sigh. “Pop built us a real nice one back home. Can’t wait to stoke up a nice fire.”

“Real beds,” Frenchy says fondly, and everyone readily agrees with nods and murmurs.

Burgie looks out the window of the truck and smiles at the bouncing landscape of paper lanterns and distant bamboo groves. 

“The view back home,” he adds quietly. “Used to watch the lightning bugs outside my window at night in the summers, be nice to see ‘em again.”

That gets everyone chattering about their skylines back home, the views from their bedroom windows. City boys talking about the buildings they miss, rural boys talking about their farms. Eugene catches Shelton looking pensively out the window and follows his line of sight, smiling at the locals who are standing out to wave at them as the trucks pass. He wonders if Shelton is thinking the same thing Eugene is, wondering which new view they’ll have to claim as home.

They load up onto the boats and Eugene can’t stop himself from looking back at the port. The Compound is miles inland from the coast and he doesn’t recognize anything. There’s a staggering sadness in him anyway.

The transports they take back to the states don’t feel much different in size. They’re cramped and crowded, and there’s no such thing as privacy from the moment they board. The daylight hours are all spent on the decks in the open air, smoking over terrible poker hands and enjoying the sun. The nights are reminiscent of the ones back on Okinawa, spent sardined into the damp, musty, low-ceilinged bunks below deck and pretending they don’t hear each other screaming and wrestling through nightmares.

With everyone packed in together, Eugene and Shelton have no choice but to sleep in separate beds for the first time in more than half a year. At first, Eugene assumes he’ll be the one to have a more difficult time of it. He keeps his worry to himself, sure that Shelton would only tease him about it if he says anything and takes the bunk directly over Shelton’s in an effort to stay close. The first night, trying to get comfortable amidst the tossing of the boat, Eugene lets his arm fall over the edge of his bunk, and just for a moment, protected by the dark, Shelton’s hand reaches up to curl around his fingers.

It’s so brief that Eugene is sure Shelton only means to appear friendly, to comfort him in their new surroundings, until it happens the next night, and the next. Every time Eugene finds his hand slung over the side of his bunk to hang limp in the air, Shelton’s fingers brush light and quick over his palm. It never seems to matter when in the night he’ll let his hand off the edge, and it’s not the first time Eugene wonders if Shelton sleeps at all anymore.

They’ve been at sea for a week when Eugene is woken by the familiar sound of Shelton’s voice in the dead of night, too loud and hoarse in the cramped iron cabins of the boat. He’s not saying anything, just frantic nonsense and shouts as he twists under his blanket. Eugene’s barely awake when he sits up from his bunk, and he doesn’t think before he’s already rolled off the short distance to the floor and kneeling beside him.

“M’rriell.” His tongue is slow and numb in his mouth, and dread prickles down his spine as his mind catches up with what he’s doing. There’s no way he’s the only Marine that Shelton woke up with his shouting. Anyone else he woke up can hear Eugene now, breaking code. Acknowledging another’s nightmare. Hoping no one can see, he reaches out and touches Shelton’s arm.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Shelton shoots up so fast his head nearly collides with Eugene’s as he snatches his wrist. “What — what’re you doin’?”

Eugene doesn’t say anything, afraid to be overheard. He looks down at Shelton’s fingers clamped like a vice around his wrist and swallows. After a moment, Shelton seems to realize. Letting out a low breath, he releases his grip and drops his forehead against Eugene’s.

Neither of them speak. They share a breath and Shelton pulls away, dropping back against his mattress. Silently, Eugene hoists himself back into his own bunk. If anyone else is awake, no one lets on. 

Second squad gets together the next morning to play poker on the deck, but Eugene folds an instant after Shelton does, and find a moment of quiet in a far corner of the transport. It’s not private enough that Eugene can chance a kiss like he wants to, but when he takes Shelton’s hand, he isn’t pushed away. Nimble tawny fingers trace along Eugene’s lifelines as if trying to memorize them, following up his wrist, and a moment later the touch is gone. Eugene hears the chattering of Marines behind them. They’re no longer alone.

There’s nothing but free time on the transports. There are no more rifle drills, no more schedules or sentry duty. They sleep when they want to sleep and spend any time they’re awake trying to keep busy. Unlike their free time in Peking, or even Okinawa, there’s no way to duck away somewhere to neck with Shelton, so all Eugene does is write. Careful little scripts of how he plans the conversations with his parents might go, conversations with his brother, with Sid.

Back when he still read his letters from home, his mother spoke a lot about Edward. She said over and over how nice it was to have one of her sons back home, how dearly she missed Eugene, she couldn’t wait for her family to be complete again. She talks about Edward’s pretty new wife Martha, and how she’s hoping to have grandchildren soon enough. It comes as a relief to Eugene, to know his brother has moved on from his time in the war to have a normal life, a good life, but it also stands out as strange to him, as if Edward must be lying to himself, to their parents, to this girl Martha.

He can’t imagine going through any of that, not now. How could he possibly strike up a conversation with someone who has never seen the death and gore he has? How could he possibly raise children like this? His mother would go on about it as if he will soon after coming home, but Eugene doesn’t like to think about it. He’s not sure what he’s going to do when they dock in San Diego. He doesn’t know where Shelton wants to start this new life. He doesn’t want to think about how he’ll never see Mobile again. 

He’s never had a job, never lived in a home without his mother to worry over him at every step or his father to take him out hunting. The past two years feel like they haven’t counted — maybe count far too much. It didn’t count when you had NCOs and officers telling you when to eat, drink, and sleep every day. He misses his parents, his brother, Sid. He wonders how Edward and Sid have managed to push past the war, to simply get on with life. Edward is married and Sid mentions he’s been going steady in all the letters Eugene’s read. It seems so easy for them to think of the future, of making children and growing old.

Where does that leave him and Shelton? Living under the guise of bachelors all their lives. It’s hard to picture anything beyond how they are now, to an actual future. He thinks of Shelton finding a job in a lumber yard or a quarry, and wonders what he could possibly do to make money for the two of them. He can’t imagine moving on to a life where he doesn’t have to sleep with a rifle in his arms. He doesn’t think he can. And the only one who could ever understand that would be Shelton. 

The distance from Shelton makes Eugene’s skin itch. He didn’t think he’d ever know the feeling of being spoiled again, but Peking had given him too much luxury to grow accustomed to. 

It’s twenty-three days since they’ve slept together when they finally dock in San Diego. They’re at Camp Pendleton for barely an hour when Shelton leans in close against his ear and murmurs, “Let’s go to the beach.”

“Wh —?”

“C’mon, kitten. All that time on the damn boat, don’t you wanna stretch your legs and get clean?”

Hot breath in Eugene’s ear causes the back of his neck to burn. “I don’t think that’s what we’ll be doing,” he hisses. 

Shelton huffs a laugh. “S’at a no?”

Eugene gets to his feet.

They duck the MPs and follow a road down to the water. It’s strange in ways it shouldn’t be to stand on American soil again. The Californian shore with its shady palms and sandy beach looks passingly like Pavuvu but it couldn’t feel more different to Eugene. The sand feels somehow different between his toes. Softer. Cooler. How do people walk along this coast every day and not feel in the soles of their feet how lucky they are? 

Gulls call overhead. A salty breeze rolls over them, whipping auburn hair into Eugene’s eyes. Shelton hasn’t trimmed it for him in over a month, it’s getting too long.

They stop together at the shore for a moment, staring over the waves.

“With any luck this’ll be the last we see of the Pacific,” Eugene says, nudging Shelton’s ribs. Shelton glances at him before staring back out at the ocean.

“S’give ‘er a proper farewell, then,” he says finally, shoving Eugene abruptly into the shallow waves. 

Squawking, Eugene flails for purchase as he tumbles back into the water, and lands with a loud splash on his ass, soaking through his dungarees. Shelton nearly falls over cackling.

“You jackass.” 

Eugene grabs Shelton by his ankle and tips him forward with all this strength, flinging him into the water, half on top of Eugene. Sputtering and laughing, Shelton pushes Eugene’s shoulder to dunk him underwater before Eugene flips them over and holds Shelton’s head under. Shelton’s stronger, and sits up with very little struggle, shaking the saltwater from his hair with a grin. They’re alone and outside for the first time in nearly a month, and Shelton is beautiful, and someone else could be along down the beach any minute. He grabs Shelton by the shoulders and kisses him hard enough that Shelton lets out a squeak of surprise.

Their dungarees are sopping and heavy when they roll away from the tide. It’s work to slide his own off his hips. Shelton’s hands are too sluggish taking off his own, and Eugene bats his hands away to rip them down himself. 

“Gene —”

“I’m staying with you,” spills out like he’s been holding it in his mouth like water. “I’ll live anywhere with you. You know that.”

Shelton nods, and Eugene takes his mouth in his. He’s realizing he doesn’t have any rifle oil with him when Shelton grabs a handful of his dungarees and pulls them close, shaking a tin of oil out of his pocket. When Eugene blinks down at the rifle oil in his hand, Shelton giggles.

“Like bein’ prepared,” he admits. 

A breath somewhere between relief and amusement puffs out of Eugene’s mouth, but he doesn’t really have time to process it before Shelton’s mouth is on him again. “C’mon, Gene.”

Excitement is thrumming under his skin, but Eugene forces himself to be careful as he slides a finger into Shelton, pressing kisses against the pulse in his throat. Shelton yelps, pressing against him, and Eugene feels a pang of guilt. It’s been too long, he must be moving too fast. When he tries to pull away, Shelton grapples for him, whining against his mouth.

“Tell me,” he purrs, carding his fingers through Eugene’s dripping hair as he shifts his hips against Eugene’s hand. “Keep goin’.”

“We can live anywhere you — anywhere you want.” Eugene rambles, kissing up Shelton’s neck. “I’ll get work in some lumberyard where no one’ll find us.”

Shaking his head, Shelton cups Eugene’s face, kissing the corner of his mouth when Eugene presses a second finger into him. 

“You’re too smart for any lumberyard, Gene.”

“So’re you,” Eugene says rather than arguing. 

Shelton scoffs. The look on his face is fond, honest. He doesn’t believe Eugene for a second, but he’s not going to argue, either.

When Eugene slides in another finger, Shelton lets out a loud, heavy breath. “Keep — keep talkin’.”

“I’m gonna take care of you,” Eugene whispers, the waves crashing against the sand almost loud enough to cover his voice. “I’m gonna cook — cook for you and do your washing, always keep — keep you safe.”

“Safe from what?” Shelton asks breathlessly, a smirk pulling at one side of his mouth. Nothing is dangerous to him now. “Mosquitoes?”

 _Your nightmares,_ Eugene doesn’t say. Too scared to admit it, he answers instead, “Everything.”

He knows what he says, but Shelton’s smile falters as if Eugene told him the truth. He flinches and pulls Eugene down for a kiss, quick and needy. 

“Gene,” he whimpers against his mouth, “I — c’mon. Fuck me.”

The sand is thick and rough underneath them, water loud and warm lapping just barely at Eugene’s hands. Eugene remembers Okinawa, pinning Shelton to a rock jetty back when they had no idea how many hours they had left to live. Back when either one of them could die. Everything’s so different, now. They’ll be home soon, somewhere new, somewhere safe. Eugene has no reason to still feel this panicked. There’s no limit on their time anymore. 

Shelton cries out when Eugene fucks into him. It’s too rough, too soon, and Shelton’s high-pitched whimpers sound like he’s pulling his fairy act again. 

It ignites something dark in Eugene, and he rips one hand from the gritty earth to cradle Shelton’s head to his chest. He rests his grimy hand against the back of Shelton’s neck and squeezes in time with thrusting his hips. Shelton keens, head lolling back, but Eugene presses him close, shushing him gently.

He feels it again, the coil of power under his skin, vicious and hard. He could break Shelton like this, if he wanted. He wonders if Shelton ever entertains the idea when he has Eugene this way. 

The thought sends a thrill down Eugene’s spine. 

“Love you,” Eugene tells him, revelling in the way Shelton shudders against him. “Gonna take care of you.” 

Shelton’s hand curls tight over Eugene’s dogtags, pulling him down by his throat so that his mouth is right against Shelton’s ear. He whimpers when Eugene stops talking, and Eugene chuckles, pressing a kiss into his temple. 

“I’ll do any — anything for you.”

Lips brush soft and dazed against Eugene’s throat, and it’s hard to tell if Shelton is attempting to speak or kiss him. Water sloshes just out of reach as Shelton writhes back against him. He groans, nuzzling his face into Eugene’s jaw. He’s shivering in Eugene’s arms, and Eugene can’t tell if he’s cold or if he’s close — if it’s something else entirely. Dread grips at his heart and he pulls Shelton tighter against him, listening to the soft little moan he lets out at the movement. 

Clenching his eyes shut, Eugene tucks his face into Shelton’s neck. He smells like seawater and sweat, and his skin feels blisteringly hot. Eugene doesn’t want to be without him. The world feels both larger and smaller all at once and Eugene’s not sure how he’ll fit in it without Shelton.

“I’m staying — staying with you,” Eugene grinds out through clenched teeth. He can’t tell if it’s him or Shelton who’s closer, so he grabs blindly for Shelton’s cock. Shelton shouts, nodding frantically.

“Yeah?”

“Be a good wife for you,” Eugene says, throat inexplicably tight. “‘Til we’re old and grey.”

“You — you will be.”

Sandy mud drips over Eugene’s shoulders as Shelton cradles him close. Fingers dig into the hair at the base of Eugene’s neck to hold him still as Shelton comes. His body seizes when he cries out against Eugene’s temple, breathless and hardly audible over the crash of the water.  
He doesn’t let Eugene stop working his hips, even as he comes down. The hand still wrapped in Eugene’s dogtags wrenches downward before he even tries to resist, and his voice is dry and quiet.

“Love you, Eugene. I — I love you.”

Eugene nods. “I—”

“We — ain’t need anybody, alright?” he interrupts, tense, and the grip in Eugene’s hair goes tight, not letting him move. “Build us a cabin — just us on our own. Middle of nowhere.”

Nervous energy pulls the blood tight in Eugene’s veins. He can’t even nod for the way Shelton is holding him now. He swallows hard, a lump firm in his throat, and croaks, “Yeah.”

Shelton’s thumb drags slick over Eugene’s cheek. “Come for me, _cher._ ”

When he does, he feels hollowed out, exhausted, and drops Shelton back against the sand, falling to bow over him, weight on his elbows. The waves wash up beside them, and Eugene can’t open his eyes. When he tries to pull back, Shelton’s nails are sharp along his back.

“Just — just a minute.”

Something is suddenly so daunting about returning to Camp Pendleton that Eugene doesn’t argue, keeping his face pressed warm into Shelton’s neck tight enough that it’s impossible to breathe, but he’s afraid to pull away again.

“Gene?” 

“Mm?”

Instead of asking anything, Shelton squeezes his hold on Eugene, kissing the side of his face before letting him go. Eugene takes a moment to sit up, unsure. Shelton props himself up on his elbows and watches him. He seems momentarily awestruck, and Eugene feels strangely exposed.

“We, uh…” he glances out at the waves, feeling sloppy dirt drag from his hair down his back. “We gonna wash up now, or was that it?”

It takes Shelton a moment to realize he’s teasing, and chuckles shyly before getting to his feet. He kicks his dungarees out of the way of the waves, and runs ahead of Eugene to slip underwater. When Eugene follows after him, he wraps his arms around Shelton’s waist and pulls him into a hug. Other than the fact that they’re naked, it’s no different than the way they used to lay at night, and Eugene feels his heart rate slow at the way they fit together. Shelton hangs limp in Eugene’s arms, silent. 

When Eugene kisses his neck, Shelton’s breath goes still, and Eugene lets him go.

“I love you, too.” 

Shelton still isn’t facing him, but it doesn’t matter. “Gene…”

“You know that.”

Water laps gently at their waists. “I do.”

“You’re gonna get tired of hearin’ it long before I quit sayin’ it.”

Finally, Shelton turns toward him. His eyes are on the water, but one side of his mouth twitches up in a smirk. “Maybe.” When he meets Eugene’s eyes, he adds, “Doubt it.”

They’re still splashing among the waves when a few of the men from How company traipse onto the beach to join them. Eugene doesn’t want to be too obvious, but the moment they arrive, he wants to leave. He stays as long as he can stand, visibly tenser, before hopping out of the water and heading back to the base.

After Peking, the barracks in San Diego seem much smaller than they had when Eugene had been here for boot camp. There are four beds to a room and nowhere near the same amount of recreational space. Peking may not have ever been Hawaii, but now that they’re on American soil, it almost feels as if it could’ve been a rest and rehabilitation all the same. Burgie and Pete bunk up with Eugene and Shelton, throwing their seabags onto their racks before turning right back around and finding somewhere else to entertain themselves on their first evening back in the States. It’s kind of them to try and give the two of them privacy, however briefly. Neither Eugene and Shelton take passes to go out drinking. After so long crammed all together on the transport, it’s enjoyable to just sit and smoke alone with each other.

The light is waning in the evening when Shelton digs the sheers out of his seabag. He doesn’t say anything, but when Eugene sees them in his hand he shuffles to sit under the floodlight outside the doorway of the barracks building, and Shelton kneels over him, clipping the length from his hair. Eugene watches the tips of his bangs fall red into the dirt, and they don’t speak. Something about it feels private. Intimate, as long as they’re quiet. The difference is noticeable as he sheds the inches of hair. His shoulders feel lighter, less stress on his neck. He feels like a Marine again with a proper regulation haircut, like they’d given him at bootcamp. There’s a beat when Shelton finishes, brushing stray hairs from his head. Without a word, Shelton leans forward and places a kiss on his neck, so quick Eugene doesn’t even have the time to tense.

When Shelton hands the scissors over, Eugene feels it, too. The fondness that seems to weigh on his chest like a lead vest. He opens his mouth, suddenly desperate to say something, but they haven’t broken their silence in over an hour, and Eugene doesn’t want to be the one to do it. He pulls gently at Shelton’s curls, drawing each strand straight to clip the edges back. After all this time, Eugene has developed a bit of a skill at trimming Shelton’s messy hair, and finishes too soon. He takes his time brushing the loose hair from Shelton scalp. The kiss Shelton left on his neck still seems to burn at his skin, and Eugene places his own at the base of Shelton’s throat.

Shelton reaches behind him and runs his hand through Eugene’s freshly cut hair.

“Let’s get inside.”

Eugene’s still too in his own head to say anything. He nods and helps Shelton to his feet.

Alone in their bunk, they return to their strangely comfortable silence. Stretched out with his head in Eugene’s lap, Shelton flips his lighter in his hands while Eugene cleans his pipe. They sit in silence for a while until Shelton snatches Eugene’s hand from above his head and slides the ring off his finger.

“Burgie and Pete are gonna see,” Eugene scolds him, but he doesn’t make a move to take his ring back. 

Shelton nods, but slides it on his finger anyway. “Just tonight. I’ll put it in my pocket when they get back.” 

It feels strange to be without it again, after almost a month. Eugene flexes his hand. 

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapters got tweaked again this time it's a miscount error I'm sorry;;;


	18. Chapter 18

Shelton is withdrawn and sensitive in San Diego. A lot of the men have gone sullen since leaving Peking, so no one asks, no one worries. It’s not the business of any of the other Marines that he presses close to Eugene every moment he can, and no one finds it a problem that he’s nowhere near as cocky and loud as he’d been in country. 

The next morning, Eugene doesn’t ask for his ring back, and Shelton doesn’t hand it over. With nothing on their agenda and no real way to kill time on the base, Shelton feels safe and comfortable enough to fall asleep on Eugene’s shoulder several times throughout breakfast and roll call. Eugene hasn’t been woken by a nightmare of Shelton’s since the one on the transport, but he can’t help but wonder how much sleep Shelton gets now that they’re no longer sharing a cot. 

While the beach had been refreshing, the showers in Camp Pendleton feel like a baptism. Warm, clean water breaks heavy over the crown of Eugene’s head and fill his lungs with steam. He stands still under the showerhead for a long time, longer than he’s bathed in years, watching the grey water slide down his body and circle down the drain.

For the first time it feels, almost, as if the war could actually be over, after all.

It’s strange to see the others in their service uniforms, clean and neat. Eugene has never tried to picture any of them, himself included, in a life outside of being Marines. Some look far more comfortable in the the ties and pressed shirts than others. Burgie is one of them, washed and tidy, smiling far more than he ever did on Okinawa, or even in China. Eugene can easily picture him at the altar of a church, watching Florence come down the aisle to meet him.

He feels itchy and confined in his own service uniform. The collared jacket is too tight and it takes several tries to get the knot on his tie right after going without for so long. They’re waiting for word on the train to take them east when Eugene unpacks the blue pocket square he’d received from Gibbons from his seabag. Rolling it through his fingers, it seems too soft, too rich. He can’t tell if he wants it or not, and ends up stashing it back in his bag.

Burgie and Pete are out on the courtyard, probably playing cards in the sun. They still don’t seem too comfortable being alone with Eugene and Shelton. Lieutenant Mac is the one to stick his head through their door. 

“Trucks’ll be here to take us to the station at 0900.”

Panic swells Eugene’s chest. He nods. Shelton mumbles something. 

The door closing sounds as if it’s at the end of a long tunnel. 

“Shh.” Shelton’s voice sounds close, unlike anything else. “Shh, Gene, it’s alright.”

His hands are gentle and light holding Eugene’s, and the weight of his ring feels disconnected and strange as Shelton slides it off his own hand to place it on Eugene’s finger. 

Clenching his eyes shut, Eugene has a sudden absurd urge to picture the moment as vows in a church of their own, but the idea makes his throat swell tight and his stomach flip sickeningly. He shakes his head, as if his thoughts are a conversation happening out loud.

“I don’t want —”

They only have three more hours. Then it’s back to travelling, back to being surrounded by others. Back to Shelton being too scared to touch him for God knows how long.

He can’t cry. He can’t be weak now. He can’t give any of his fears a voice and make them real. He swallows thickly and kisses Shelton, deep and needy. Shelton responds instantly, starved for it, and pulls Eugene into his lap. 

Someone could walk in at any moment, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing has to matter right now, not with the way Shelton kisses him, the way he holds Eugene tight against his chest as if they could melt into one if he just squeezed hard enough.

“Merriell —”

“ _Il n’y a pas quelqu'un autre,_ ” he sighs over him, “ _Tu me as ruiné._ ” 

He’s too afraid to ask; too afraid Shelton won’t tell him. His voice sounds so tight, and Eugene shakes his head, kissing him over and over until he stops talking altogether. It’s nostalgic, in a way, to the desperate way Shelton was when this first started, and Eugene feels his heart skip, a hysterical laugh bubbling out of him.

“You — you gonna ask nice or what?”

Shelton laughs, but it sounds off and wet. “Burgie and Pete —” 

“I don’t care about Burgie or Pete,” Eugene interrupts, voice shaking. “We… I want —” His heart is in his throat, and he swallows hard until it slides back down. “Merriell, please.”

“Eugene…”

“They — they already know. Please.”

“Now who’s askin’ nice?”

His voice is soft, his smile pained. Eugene’s straining not to cry, but Shelton must be able to tell. 

It’s humiliating, terrifying, and Eugene drops his head against Shelton’s shoulder, grip tight around his arms. He doesn’t say anything else, but Shelton rubs his back as if he had.

“Gene, shh, we’re alright, look here.”

He shifts to look Eugene in the eye and gives him a kiss, sweet and soft. “Prop the door.”

Eugene scrambles off his lap and drags their seabags out from under their cots to shove them up against the door. Shelton takes his time removing his own uniform, and Eugene takes pause when he starts to take off his as well.

“If we don’t look presentable when the trucks come’n get us Burgie’ll give us hell.”

It’s not funny, but Eugene laughs, if only because it’s the only thing he can do when he’s trying as hard as he is not to cry. Shelton smiles, tentative and knowing. He unbuttons Eugene’s shirt and kisses his cheek, folding their clothes together neatly on the end of Eugene’s cot before leading Eugene to his own.

“Gene,” he whispers, sitting Eugene back against the mattress. It sounds as if he wants to say something, but he doesn’t add anything else. He crawls carefully into Eugene’s lap, his hands groping at anywhere on pale skin that he can reach. Eugene watches his freckles disappear and reappear under Shelton’s fingers until they skate up to cradle his neck. “Gene…”

Maybe if he doesn’t say anything, Shelton will keep talking. Eugene licks his lips, and Shelton closes the distance between them. He moans into Eugene’s mouth, and Eugene jolts when he realizes Shelton is preparing himself.

“Tell me.”

“I —” Eugene’s voice cracks from underuse, and he clears his throat to try again, barely a whisper still against Shelton’s mouth. “I love you.”

“Mhm.” He wants more, but Eugene’s afraid to say anything else. His voice still feels tight, anxiety strangling him. Shelton kisses down his throat and whimpers, “Please.”

“Teach me to cook, and clean for you — we — we’ll never need anyone else.” Shelton nods and nips into Eugene’s throat, spurring him on. “I’ll do — anything. Whatever you want. I’m yours.”

“Don’t belong to no one, Gene.” 

He sounds so quiet and dazed that Eugene’s not even sure Shelton meant to say it. “I — I want to. You’re mine, too. Aren’t you?”

Shelton’s head lolls forward. “ _Toujours._ ”

“Tell me,” Eugene whispers, voice going soft as Shelton pulls his hand away to wrap his fingers around Eugene’s cock. “Talk to me, please —”

Situating himself on Eugene’s lap, Shelton whines against his throat. “ _Je t’aime._ ”

Eugene curls his hands tight in Shelton’s hair, pulling his throat prone to bite down low on his neck. He wants to leave marks, scars he was too afraid to leave before. The train will be here soon and Pete and Burgie could come in at any minute but the only thing that matters now is how smooth Shelton’s skin is, how many more scars Eugene could leave.

“Tell me —” He jolts his hips, fucking into Shelton hard enough to whine in his ear. “Tell me what you want.”

“ _Te garder._ ”

“Tell me,” Eugene repeats, command leaving his mouth like a snarl. Shelton clenches his fingers in the hair at the back of Eugene’s neck and kisses just below his ear.

“Want you to fuck me, Gene. C’mon, harder.”

It isn’t what he’d said before, Eugene knows, but it doesn’t matter. Eugene is eager to give him what he asks for, pushing into him until Shelton splays limp against his chest. 

“That’s it, babydoll.” 

He pillows his head against Eugene’s shoulder, boneless and heavy in his lap. Eugene wraps his arms around him and buries his face in Shelton’s neck, which makes him whine low and deep in his chest. He locks his ankles around Eugene’s hips and keens. There’s sweat beading at the back of Eugene’s neck as he pushes forward. He’s frantic, terrified to stop. The train will be here before he lets himself come, Burgie and Pete will come in. He can’t stop. He just wants to stay like this.

Shelton wraps a drowsy hand around his own cock, but Eugene pulls it away, shaking his head. Indignant, Shelton whines, but Eugene holds his wrist, keeping him still.

“Not yet.”

“Think — think you can order me around all of — all of a sudden?” Shelton manages with a breathless laugh.

Eugene shakes his head again. “Please.”

His voice cracks, helpless, and the dazed little smile falls from Shelton’s face. He nods, shaking his hand gently from Eugene’s grip to curl his fingers around the back of Eugene’s neck. He drops his gaze from Eugene’s face to watch them move against each other before his eyes flutter closed.

“Gene…”

“No,” Eugene whispers, shuddering as he forces himself back from the edge. “Please, not — not yet.”

Shelton’s head is still bowed, eyes closed. His legs are trembling in Eugene’s lap. His grip tightens briefly at his nape, and he shakes his head. “Eugene…”

Eugene’s blood feels too hot, boiling in his skin. He shuts his eyes and holds Shelton close, listening to him breathe. 

He loves Shelton, more than he thinks he’ll ever be able to love anyone else. Maybe he is just young and foolish, but it feels true regardless. He doesn’t want to stop feeling that, doesn’t think he’ll ever recover. Not from the war, not from the scars Shelton has left on him. Not from this new life he’s constructed in his head. He’ll go anywhere to keep from feeling this.

“Merriell — Merriell, I’m not — I can’t…” 

He’s not even sure what he wants to say, but it doesn’t matter. Shelton doesn’t let him finish. Instead he kisses him like they could die at any moment, like they already have.

“I love you,” he gasps finally, shivering at the way Shelton sighs against his mouth in response. “I love — I love you.”

“I know, kitten.” Shelton’s voice is unnaturally quiet, barely a whisper against Eugene’s mouth. “Now come for me.”

Eugene’s entire body sags forward as he does, hard enough that he feels Shelton go stiff in his arms as time slows down and his eyes roll back. He hears Shelton, mouth pressed to his ear, whispering nonsensical French as he comes down. As he blinks back to himself, he realizes he can recognize the phrase he’s saying.

“ _S'il te plaît,_ Gene. _S'il te plaît._ ”

Nodding, Eugene slides his hand in between Shelton’s legs, but he only strokes him for a moment before Shelton goes abruptly tense and falls shuddering against him. Eugene remembers the times he’d waited for Shelton’s permission, and momentarily entertains the idea that Shelton had waited for his.

Catching his breath, Shelton drops his forehead to Eugene’s, and they sit in silence until he swallows audibly, eyes still shut.

“We should — we don’t got a lotta time.”

Eugene’s eyes are burning and he’s terrified to blink. He nods, and waits for Shelton to climb off of him before taking a steadying breath. Shelton pulls their seabags from the door and they change into their PT uniforms in silence, their eyes on the ground as they make their way to the showers.

Before it felt like a baptism. Now Eugene feels as if he’s drowning.

They’ve changed back into their service uniforms, sitting smoking on Shelton’s cot when Burgie knocks on the door.

“Hey, fellas,” he calls out from the other side, “Do — truck’s are gonna be here in an hour.”

Shelton threads his fingers with Eugene’s, giving his father’s ring a little twirl. “Yeah.”

There’s quiet for a moment, and then, “Can I — can I come in?”

Squeezing Eugene’s hand, Shelton repeats, “Yeah.”

Eugene expects him to pull his hand away as Burgie opens the door, but he doesn’t. Burgie at least pretends not to see as he rambles animatedly to them. Eugene can’t process anything Burgie says, but he hears Shelton grunt a response or two. Finally, he forces himself to listen.

“You know who’s pickin’ y’all up at the station back home?” Burgie asks as he piles his things into his seabag. 

“I — uh, I wrote Sid.” Eugene’s voice is so raw he feels the words scratch along his tongue like sandpaper. He has no idea if Sid will be there, but he was the only one Eugene felt comfortable knowing his arrival date. His family would never understand if he didn’t show up at the station, but Sid might.

Shelton doesn’t say anything. His thumb traces over Eugene’s wrist. The silence stretches for a bit too long, and Burgie knows better than to ask again. 

Boarding their train is surreal, like a dream Eugene barely remembers having while they were still in country. Civilians sit chattering amongst the cars, entirely absorbed in their own lives. They don’t even seem to notice the Marines piling onto the train, and if they do, they don’t pretend to care. A few offer handshakes, but they’re soon ignored.

It’s such a stark difference from arriving in Peking, for a split second Eugene feels as if the war may not have happened. Shelton is at his side, a careful distance between them. He must be breathing heavily, or make some sort of sound, because Shelton reaches up and squeezes the back of Eugene’s neck.

“All right, Sledgehammer?”

Eugene nods, and tries not to react when Shelton drops his grip. 

He, Shelton and Burgie find a table together at the back of their car and sit in silence as the train pulls away from the platform. It feels strange already, most of second squad on other trains. Eugene abruptly feels as if he’s one of the sole survivors. The whistle blows as they pick up steam, and Eugene can feel Shelton’s eyes on him, boring into the side of his head. Ignoring him, Eugene watches the landscape out the window.

At first, the ride is quiet. Eugene naps away the first hour or so, making a point to fall asleep against the window, but he wakes up curled against Shelton. He wonders if he’d shifted that way on his own, or if it was Shelton’s doing. When Eugene slowly blinks awake, Shelton’s arm is draped over his shoulders, tracing calming patterns into his back. He’s talking to Burgie in a low voice, and Burgie is nodding without looking at them. It could easily mean nothing in this cramped little space, which is why Shelton has no problem touching him like that in front of the others on the train, but Burgie knows exactly what it means. He keeps his eyes on the passing trees and buildings outside. 

Eugene closes his eyes and pretends to fall back asleep, sinking into Shelton’s side.

The conductor shouts when they reach Los Angeles, and the Marines headed east are all carted off to get on a new train. A young girl waves at them from the platform as they pass. Burgie smiles and waves back. Eugene keeps his head down and pretends he hasn’t seen.

It’s more of the same as they board the next train. A smattering of chatter that distinctly involves them. Another section of the car goes silent altogether. A few handshakes, one older man gets up to give his seat to a boy from H company, but he refuses it. Within moments, their appearance is forgotten. 

Burgie, Shelton and Eugene stay together, seated around a wide table on their own. They’re on the train for about an hour when they come to a stop. The conductor shouts out the name of the city, and a group of young women climb laughing into their car. Eugene is busy with his pipe, but looks up when Burgie and Shelton whistle in unison. Eugene rolls his eyes, and Shelton waggles his eyebrows. Forcing back the smile, Eugene turns back to his pipe.

“You wish,” he grumbles under his breath. 

Shelton laughs, pulling out a cigarette of his own. 

The girls sit nowhere near them, but Shelton is convinced they must be talking about the three of them. It only succeeds in making Burgie blush. Eugene knows Shelton couldn’t care less, but the girls’ disinterest of him is still amusing.

They haven’t even left California yet. Their second stop is so soon after it feels like they should be home any minute, but it’s another couple hours until the next one. Eugene’s perked up a little since leaving San Diego, but he’s still grumpy enough that Shelton offers to get him coffee.

“Bet it’s the best you’ve had in years,” he teases gently. 

Eugene shrugs.

Burgie starts to agree to a cup himself before realizing Shelton didn’t ask him. Instead he mumbles, “I’ll go with you. Get some of my own.”

Being on his own is awkward. It makes Eugene fidgety. He cleans his pipe again, unused since he’d cleaned it earlier, just to have something to do with his hands. He used to love being alone, he remembers. He glances over his shoulder every few minutes until Burgie and Shelton are visible walking back between the benches, Shelton balancing two cups of coffee in his hands. He places one in front of Eugene before sitting down with his own. Eugene stares down at it before taking a sip.

It _is_ the best coffee he’s had in years. Eugene’s pretty sure it’s the best coffee he’s ever had in his life. He drinks deeply, feeling Shelton’s eyes on him, and tries to smile in between sips. It’s hard, watching the world fly past their windows. It’s hard to focus on anything that isn’t the daunting fear of what’s coming. 

Shelton can tell, reaching under the table to give his knee a little squeeze.

A few more stops go by too quickly. Before Eugene knows it they’re watching Arizona sands just outside as the lunch carts trek by. It feels like they’ve been riding for days, and yet still not long at all. Eugene is picking at his food when Burgie gets up mumbling something about drinks. He must mean to get them all some, but he hadn’t asked what either of them wanted. When Eugene’s eyes follow him, Shelton nudges his shoulder.

“Gene?”

“Hm?”

Shelton chews on his lip. “You ain’t said nothin’ for an hour.”

It’s obvious Shelton’s uncomfortable with his silence, but there’s no way for Eugene to start a conversation with that information. He frowns. “Oh.”

Dropping his head back against his seat, Shelton groans. 

“You’re worse than —” He doesn’t even finish before his eyes catch a group of ladies carefully managing their way through the car. Mid-sentence, he lights up like a store window. “I know.”

“Know what?” Eugene grumbles, inexplicably snappish.

“Get you all cheered up. Hold on.”

He gets to his feet and saunters over to the women, sidling in front of them to block their path. Eugene watches sulkily as Shelton introduces himself with a snide little smile. He notices Burgie making his way over just past them an instant before Shelton’s drawl offers smugly, “Why don’t we go to the back of the train and you can show me your caboose?”

It’s so ridiculous that Eugene is laughing behind his hands before the woman even cracks her hand across Shelton’s face, which only makes it harder to hide his grin. When Shelton sidles in across from him, he takes in the look on Eugene’s face and beams. He acts offended by her lack of interest when Burgie sits back down having obviously seen from how hard he’s laughing, but neither of them are even momentarily fooled. Shelton doesn’t harp on it for long, watching Eugene’s face as Burgie tries to change the subject. He’d been right. It got Eugene talking, at least a little. When Burgie brings up Florence, the two of them tease him, until he mentions he got a reply.

“This the first we’re hearin’ of it?” Shelton asks sarcastically, and Burgie clicks his tongue, raising his hands briefly in defeat before they let him air his anxieties. He’s still gotten no word from Florence, but after a little needling he admits to a letter from his mother, excited to finally pass her mother’s engagement ring down in the family.

By nightfall, Shelton is back to sitting next to Eugene, spread out on top of him like a blanket. He’s dead asleep, but Eugene isn’t, kept awake by the jostling and racket of the brakes and engine while they make their stop in Tucson. Even if the train were silent, Eugene’s too afraid to sleep. Nightmares are bad enough, but time goes by so much faster when he’s asleep. They’ll be so much closer to Alabama when he wakes up. Instead, he watches fondly as Shelton squirms against him like a cat from the noise of the train.

“Sledge.”

Burgie’s voice makes Eugene jump, and Shelton huffs against his shoulder at the movement. He hadn’t realized Burgie was awake too. He looks up, startled, and Burgie’s eyes go soft. 

“Sledge...”

“What — uh — what time is it?”

“2215,” Burgie answers automatically. He must’ve just looked up from his watch. “Trouble sleepin’?”

“No,” he answers without thinking. When Burgie blinks, he attempts to fix it. “I mean I — I’m just. Nervous. About getting home.”

Nodding, Burgie drops his eyes to the table. “Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat as quietly as he can. “Yeah, me too.”

For the most part, they’ve moved past it, but Eugene still manages to catch Burgie off-guard on occasion. He’s often unsure if he should empathize or not with the sort of things Eugene says, as if they all have a deeper meaning than he may realize. He still seems unsettled talking about Florence whenever it’s just the two of them. It’s almost like he feels guilty to have her. Eugene wishes there was a way he could wave it off, but nothing he says is convincing enough, especially not after the way Burgie found him hidden away in his bunk in Peking.

“Must be excited though,” Eugene insists, “To see Florence and all.”

The look on Burgie’s face makes the words sound somehow mocking and cruel. He doesn’t seem to know if he should smile or not. Eugene makes a point to, but Burgie drops his gaze again. 

“She ain’t said yes, yet.”

A shrug makes Shelton wriggle. “She will.”

That’s good enough. Burgie smiles wide this time, though it still seems forced. When he looks back up, it feels for a split second as if he’s going to apologize. Thankfully, he doesn’t, but his eyes linger on Shelton, slumped against Eugene’s shoulder. He wants to say something encouraging back, but there’s nothing to say. Acknowledging it would be the only thing worse. 

He pulls a cigarette out of his pocket and offers one to Eugene, instead. Eugene takes it, if only because his pipe is in the pocket under Shelton’s head.

Eventually, Eugene cannot stay awake any longer, but his fingers stay limp against the curls at the base of Shelton’s neck.


	19. Chapter 19

It’s still dark outside when Eugene is jerked awake by the train pulling back into motion from a stop. Before he can drift back, the weight on top of him moves, just barely, and Shelton’s voice is in his ear, a quiet _shh._ Before he can react, lips press against his neck, soft and dry. 

“Get back to sleep, kitten.”

Most of the train’s passengers must be asleep by now. Shelton would never call him that where anyone else could overhear. 

“Where are we?” Eugene’s voice sounds too loud to his own ears, rough and crackling from sleep.

“Somewhere in New Mexico.”

They were still in Arizona when Eugene was last awake. The train’s moving too quickly. Time is moving faster than he’s ready for it to. His grip clenches in Shelton’s coat. Instantly, he feels fingers stroke at his knuckles. It’s comforting, and doesn’t open his eyes.

“Back to sleep,” Shelton repeats softly.

Eugene shakes his head, but he’s too tired to actually refuse. Shelton’s warm and comfortable against his side, and it’s been so long since they were allowed to sleep this close. He thinks, just for a moment as he starts to fade back to sleep, that he hears Shelton humming one of his French songs under his breath.

They wake up and watch the sunrise just before they enter Texas. Burgie grins out the window, and Shelton wraps his hand around Eugene’s fingers just under the table.

“Lookin’ like home yet?” Shelton asks, still squeezing Eugene’s hand.

Burgie shrugs. “Not quite,” he says with a smile, “But we’re gettin’ closer.”

Texas is enormous. The track splits in two at their stop at the far edge of El Paso, and a good deal of the people in their car get off to go the opposite way to the southern half of the state. Burgie likes talking about Texas, other cities he’s been to, how far his family spans across the state. He has a cousin down near the tracks in the other direction, in San Antonio. He rambles a little, and Eugene thinks Burgie may be just as nervous to get off this train and back into civilian life as he is. They’ve been in Texas over an hour when Burgie gets up to walk the train. He mentions getting them drinks, but the two of them don’t see him again until long after the service cart has come by with breakfast plates. Shelton, anxious to be sitting on the same side as Eugene without Burgie to even them out, awkwardly slips onto the opposite bench.

When Burgie comes back with drinks, his eyes are on the window. Eugene envies him, that this anxious limbo is almost done for him. Soon, Burgie will start recognizing the view, by the time they hit their next stop. As terrifying as it is, at least the dreading it will be over.

“Who’s gonna be at the station to pick _you_ up?” Eugene asks finally, realizing he hadn’t, back in San Diego.

Burgie chews on his lip, and Eugene regrets it. He’s thinking about Florence, now. Hoping she’ll be there.

“I wrote to my ma,” he says finally. “Knowing her, she’ll have the whole family’ll pile into the truck and come along.”

The words come out sadder than Eugene had expected. Shelton hasn’t mentioned anyone waiting for him in New Orleans and Eugene is still unsure if he’ll ever see Sid again as it is. Talk of home is still too unnerving for all of them. For a long time, no one says anything, picking quietly at their breakfast.

It’s a good six or seven hours between their first stop in Texas and their next one. The three of them play cards and listen to Burgie talk more about home.

“Still looks pretty different outside,” Burgie tells them, glancing up from his cards to steal a look out his window, just in case it’s starting to look more familiar since the last time he took in the view outside. “Already smells like home, though.”

“Cow shit?” Shelton teases loudly. Eugene kicks his shin under the table, but Burgie laughs.

“A little, yeah.”

By the time the conductor shouts that they’ve made it to Odessa, it’s almost three in the afternoon. They all turn to look out the window as a Marine they don’t recognize disembarking at the stop. Eugene feels itchy under his skin, as if he’s not meant to be wearing it. He doesn’t want to get off this train. He’s not ready to be someone else, somewhere else. He wishes he never left San Diego. 

When he looks over at Shelton, his eyes are on his lunch. Burgie has started fidgeting so hard he’s making the bench creak underneath him. None of them are sure yet who they’re going to be once they stop being Marines. None of them are ready.

The next stop feels too soon. An hour, maybe less. Eugene hates when the stops are too close together, but Burgie almost seems to be in pain. He jumps up to get a good look out the window, and his expression is somewhere between a grimace and relief when the conductor shouts the name of the city. He must not recognize it, because he sits back down as other people in the car mill on or off.

Shelton is fidgeting, trapped in between the window and Burgie. He grabs a cigarette and his lighter out of his pocket, but hesitates when he gets a good look at the lighter in his hand. Eugene watches him roll his nail along the engraving and wonders what he’s thinking. He looks lost in his own head and Eugene knocks his knee under the table to shake him out of it. Blinking, Shelton lights his cigarette and drops his lighter back into his breast pocket. Eugene chews on the edge of his smile and pretends to be focused on something else.

It’s so long before the next stop that the three of them have finished dinner before they get there. When Burgie looks out the window, his face changes, bright and warm. 

“There’s my little brother.”

When Eugene and Shelton turn to see, he adds with a hint of anxiousness, “No sign of Florence.”

“Australia’s a long way from here,” Shelton assures so gently that it almost doesn’t sound like him. 

It placates Burgie, just barely, a hint of a smile on his face. As he drags his seabag down from the overhead compartment Eugene and Shelton awkwardly mumble their goodbyes. It still doesn’t feel real that Burgie won’t be there at every turn for them anymore. Eugene is still convinced that when he wakes up tomorrow, curled against Shelton’s side, it’ll be Burgie’s knock at the door to finally rouse him to join the day.

“Hey, Burgie,” Shelton calls out after him before he can disappear off the train. “Thanks.” He hesitates, swaying his weight from side to side. “For doin’ everythin’ you could to keep us gettin’ our fool heads shot off.”

He means in general, but more than that, as well. Eugene can tell, in the cant of his voice, and the way Burgie’s expression goes gentle for just a moment before he nods. He glances back at Eugene, and Eugene gives him a nod of his own. He wants to say something, to agree. Part of him wants to jump to his feet and give Burgie a hug, but he’s still disconnected from the fact that Burgie is leaving at all. Nodding is the only thing he can manage.

They watch Burgie from the window as he rushes to hug his little brother. He seems abruptly different, lighter maybe. But the way he holds his brother into the hug is almost like he’s forgotten how to be careful, as if he’s hyperaware of somehow becoming Lenny with a chick. When Eugene looks back at Shelton, Shelton is already watching him with harrowing eyes. His mouth is twisted into an unreadable expression, and Eugene feels oddly unsettled. As the train starts up again, Eugene pulls his ring off his finger and places it in front of Shelton.

“Last time.”

Shelton stares down at the ring in silence. By the time he’s plucked it off the table, Eugene’s almost ready to snatch it back.

“Eugene…”

He sounds unsure, and Eugene braces his shoulders. He’s not sure what’s coming, and tension coils at the bottom of his stomach and prickles sweat at the base of his neck. His throat swells too thick for his tongue, and he clenches his fists. Shelton drops his eyes back to his hands, working the ring onto his finger. He clears his throat before looking back up.

“I love you.” He says it so quietly that Eugene almost doesn’t hear over the roar of the train. 

The fear drops from Eugene like shedding a physical weight, and he nods. “I —” he smiles, his voice too much louder to his own ears to feel safe saying it. “Yeah.”

Shelton smiles back at him, a quick twitch of his lips, and looks back at his hands.

There’s only a few bodies left in their car by the time they hit their next stop. They’re still, astonishingly, in Texas, but most everyone who’s been in their car has made it home by now. By nightfall, Shelton slinks back over to Eugene’s side of the bench and leans in close. 

“We shouldn’t — we can’t sleep like this now, It‘d be too… just come here.”

Before Eugene can say anything, Shelton pulls him into a kiss. It’s quick, and the train is dark, but Eugene’s heart leaps into his throat. He grabs for Shelton’s jacket, but Shelton pulls away in the next instant. Eugene whimpers, but Shelton sidles back onto his own side and settles back against the window.

For a long time, it’s perfectly silent between them.

“Goodnight, Sledgehammer.”

Eugene’s afraid to sleep, so he doesn’t. Instead he spends the whole night writing fervently in his bible by the overhead light of the train. Shelton wakes up in time to see their last stop in Texas, and is floored by how long they’ve been traveling.

“How big is this Godforsaken place?”

Eugene snorts, a little hysterical. “We’re at the border.”

He smiles, but he’s terrified. He wishes they somehow hit Alabama first. They could breeze past Mobile and it could be over. Instead, he watches Louisiana come to fruition outside his window and wishes Shelton were still sitting next to him to hold his hand. He rubs his thumb over the tan line along his ring finger and tries not to look at Shelton.

Nervousness and exhaustion run together and make it nearly impossible for Eugene to eat. He’d skipped breakfast while Shelton was sleeping, and when he tries to push his plate away at lunch, Shelton scoots it back in front of him with his fork. His eyes skate along the busyness of the car before he chances, “Eat up, _cher._ ”

It’s always been impossible to tell Shelton no. Eugene eats slowly, and flinches when they reach their first stop. He hopes Shelton doesn’t notice. He at least has the decency not to say anything. When the train starts back up, he resists the urge to reach out and grab Shelton’s hand, still wearing his ring. It’s almost over. He can almost breathe.

Even after the ridiculous expanse of Texas, time seems to slow down in Louisiana. It feels like they’ve been riding through it forever by the time they reach Lafayette.

“How big is Louisiana?” Eugene asks finally, watching the train station fall away just outside the window.

Shelton shrugs. It’s unsurprising he’d never bother to find out. “Big enough, I suppose.” 

“What’s it like?”

Avoiding a real answer, Shelton just shrugs again. “Swamp, mostly.”

“Tell me,” Eugene insists. The whistle blows as the train builds up steam, and Eugene wants to focus on anything else.

Squirming in his seat, Shelton finally admits, “Sunset’s always pretty in summers on the bayou.” Eugene nods, but doesn’t say anything, forcing Shelton to continue. “Used to always go out there with friends from the lumberyard and get hammered.”

At the mention of friends, Eugene grins. “Yeah?”

“Sure,” Shelton smirks a little, softening at Eugene’s interest. “Used to spend long as I could out there growin’ up. Catchin’ fireflies and fishin’ and such.”

Eugene tries to picture Shelton as a child, running barefoot after fireflies in the swamp. The image makes him warm, and he grins. “What else did you get up to back home?”

There’s a flash of a real smile on Shelton’s face for a moment. It’s hard to tell if it’s from thinking back, or if Shelton just finds Eugene’s questions funny. 

“Drinkin’, mostly. Not much else to do in Nawlans, if we’re bein’ honest.” Eugene makes a face, disbelieving, and Shelton admits a little awkwardly. “Took girls out dancin’ a few times, when I had the money.”

The grin on Eugene’s face is so wide it almost hurts. “You dance?”

“No.”

“You have,” Eugene sing-songs. 

Shelton glares at him. “Them girls did mosta the dancin’. I ain’t Fred fuckin’ Astaire or nothin’.”

He regrets the comparison the moment Eugene starts laughing. 

“I can just picture you all dressed up in a fancy suit, some pretty girl in one of them flowy dresses…” He trails off, still giggling, and Shelton raises his eyebrows.

“Jealous?”

Worried he’s blushing, Eugene sticks out his tongue. “You wish.”

It’s getting darker outside, but it’s certainly not late enough for anyone to be asleep yet when Shelton winks and whispers under his breath, “Wish I could take _you_ out in a flowy dress.” 

Not expecting it, Eugene sputters, and Shelton chuckles.

By the time they reach the next stop, Eugene is struggling to stay awake. It’s gotten late enough that several other people on the train are snoring, but Eugene stares resolutely at the pages of his book. They’re still docked up when Shelton shifts to his side of the table and scoots in close.

“Thought we couldn’t —” Eugene starts, but Shelton puts a hand over his mouth.

“I’m not — I can’t stay, I just…” he turns his head, watching the few people still awake on the train either grab their things to leave or get comfortable in their seats. “Just for a bit.”

It’s like electricity to Eugene’s nerves, snapping him awake. He feels Shelton’s hand high on his thigh and jerks upright, but Shelton hisses in his ear.

“Dead quiet, _cher._ ”

No one’s on the opposite side of the aisle. The closest people are all asleep, but Eugene is sure his heartbeat will wake them all. He realizes belatedly that neither of them have rifle oil on them any longer, but before he can say anything, he notices Shelton slinking down underneath the table.

“Merriell —”

Shelton’s knees hit the floor. “Dead quiet.”

The click of Eugene’s unbuckling belt is obscenely loud. He reaches down to stay Shelton’s hands, but Shelton just shakes him off. He doesn’t speak again, just finishes opening Eugene’s pants. When Eugene doesn’t move his hands away, Shelton leans forward and kisses his knuckles. Eugene can barely see in the dim evening light of the train car, but Shelton looks back up at him and blinks, waiting.

His eyes are so wide and dark that it steals the air from Eugene’s lungs. He hasn’t said a word, but Eugene hears it anyway. _Please._

This is dangerous and stupid, but Eugene’s heart is already pounding, and Shelton’s hands are warm weight on the inside of Eugene’s thighs. When Eugene doesn’t come up with an answer, Shelton leans forward to place a kiss just under Eugene’s navel. His breath tickles Eugene’s skin, and he squirms. He can feel Shelton’s lips curve into a smile against his stomach. He kisses him again, and Eugene knows he’s watching when he nods.

Shelton’s tongue is soft and hesitant on his skin, flickering out to taste him before swallowing his cock down. He moves so fast that Eugene is sure he’s made a noise. Shelton’s nails dig into his thigh and Eugene holds his breath. His cock nudges the back of Shelton’s throat, and Shelton grabs the hand nearest to him and guides it to his hair. Eugene takes the hint and buries both hands in his curls, clenching his fingers to keep from shouting.

They haven’t had the time or privacy for this in what feels like lifetimes. Eugene’s forgotten how good it feels. He hadn’t even been hard a moment ago. Now it already feels as if he’s riding the edge. He drops his head back against his seat, and Shelton’s throat rattles as if he’s trying to speak. 

Eugene’s hips shift, just barely, too nervous to make noise, but Shelton bobs his head. He wants it.

Catching his whimper behind his teeth, Eugene rolls his hips. Shelton’s jaw goes slack, his warm tongue pressed soft and wet against his skin, and Eugene feels as if his body is fading, melting into the seat underneath him, blurring into the air. He breathes in hard, and Shelton shifts against his lap in a way that makes light burst behind his eyes. Eugene squirms again, hips bucking, and Shelton reaches out to press Eugene back against the bench. 

The weight is stabilizing, somehow sinking him back into his own body. His skin is vibrating against his own bones and he’s desperate for release, desperate for anything, but he can’t ask. He can’t say a word. He shouldn’t even breathe. He claws at Shelton’s scalp, helpless, and Shelton purrs against his cock.

Eugene bites the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood. He’s going to come any minute, surrounded by strangers. He whines, unable to keep the sound trapped in his own throat, and Shelton digs his nails into his thigh again. It’s supposed to be a warning, a stab of pain to pull Eugene back, but it only feels amazing, and Eugene can’t help the way his hips jerk. He hears Shelton whine, then, as if he’s back to playing the desperate little quiff he’d been on the docks, and Eugene’s whole body suddenly burst like a raw nerve, light blinding and his throat going tight. He can’t feel his fingers and his mind has gone blank.

For a moment, he forgets where he is. He means to grope for Shelton, but he can’t move except for how hard he’s trembling. His body feels as if it’s filled with hot lead.

Eugene’s still shaking when Shelton pulls off. His limbs are still too heavy to manage, so Shelton patiently tucks him back into his slacks and buttons them up himself. When he situates himself back onto the seat next to Eugene, he takes the time to straighten his own tie before leaning forward and kissing him.

It’s still too soon for Eugene to react. Shelton has to guide him by the jaw to tilt his head back, tongue sweeping over Eugene’s lips until he opens them. 

He doesn’t break away, even as he’s panting against Eugene’s mouth, holding him still by cradling the back of his head. Eugene wonders if he can taste the copper tang of blood in his mouth. When Eugene can finally lift his arms, he drapes them over Shelton’s shoulders, pulls him close. 

He forgets for just an instant that there are other people on this train; that there are other people on this planet. He wants to pretend there never was a war, that he never had a family, never had a future. All there is now is him and Shelton and that’s all there ever has to be.

When Shelton finally lets them both breathe, he rests his forehead to Eugene’s, eyes shut as he stabilizes himself. He’s panting, breathless and quiet and his voice is hoarse when he manages to speak. 

“I — Eugene…” He clears his throat, but it has no effect when he tries again. “I love you.”

Swallowing, Eugene starts to say it back, but Shelton cuts him off, cupping his face. 

“More than — more than anything. You gotta know that. Okay?” 

Eugene nods, and Shelton takes a deep breath. 

“You — we should get some shuteye.”

“I’m not tired,” Eugene lies, but Shelton finally blinks his eyes open to look at him.

“I know you ain’t slept last night.”

“I’m not tired,” Eugene protests again, quieter, but Shelton tisks and nuzzles into his neck to kiss just behind his ear.

“When — when you wake up we can get off this train and head north. We can go… go anywhere you want. Alright?”

Eugene nods, and Shelton kisses him again, quick and careful. Eugene grabs for him, pulling him close, and Shelton breaks the kiss to drop his head against Eugene’s shoulder.

“I can’t… stay.”

When Eugene lets him go, he doesn’t move. Eugene props his seabag against the window to lay against and waits for Shelton to slide back to his side, but he doesn’t.

“Are you gonna —”

“No.”

He must realize how strange the answer is when Eugene balks. His face twists as he tries to come up with an explanation. 

“I — no one’s back here. They won’t know. Just ‘til you knock out won’t matter.”

Smiling, Eugene shifts to lean against Shelton instead, leaving his bag squished up against the window. Closing his eyes, he feels fingers in his hair scritching gently at his neck. Eugene’s still trying to get comfortable as they pull into the next stop, listening to the people climb aboard. He squirms, anxious from the bustling but Shelton’s fingers are back to rolling over his neck in a heartbeat. He can just hear Shelton humming on the other side of him, another quiet, familiar French song in between drags of his cigarette.

Eugene’s asleep before they leave the Schriever station.

He sleeps for a long time, straight through the night and past sunrise, lulled by the vibrations of the train engine rumbling up from the floor. Light streams in from the window the next morning, waking him up bleary and disoriented. 

The engine moans and groans to a stop and the conductor shouts, “Gulfport, Mississippi.” 

Eugene keeps his eyes shut and wonders what living here could be like without looking out the window. He doesn’t want to look out the window. He doesn’t want to open his eyes. It would ruin the fantasy. He’s greedy. He wants a few more seconds of idyllic imagining. More time in this uncertain limbo of potential. He realizes he’s holding his breath, and lets it out slow and quiet in a long sigh. He waits for the train to start up again, whistle blowing, before he blinks his eyes open.

On the table in front of him sits his father’s ring and he immediately shuts his eyes again. 

He feels stunningly, violently sick. His stomach churns and his eyes sting and he doesn’t want to look up. He doesn’t want to see anything. It could just be a nightmare. He has more of those than he can count these days. Maybe he’ll wake up any minute to see they haven’t even made it to New Orleans yet. Maybe this is nothing at all.

“Merriell?” 

No answer. He’s alone.

He waits for the panic, but it doesn’t come. All he feels is anger. Rage that makes his mouth dry and his hands shake. How could he do this? Why would he leave? After everything they’d gone through together, everything Eugene has done. He doesn’t even bother to tell Eugene goodbye? That coward. _That coward._

Sick crawls up Eugene’s throat. His heart clenches with every beat and tears sting just behind his eyes but he focuses on breathing, and each lungful comes and goes. Blindly, Eugene reaches out and snatches his ring off the table with a scrape of metal to wood that rings out loud and grating in his ears.

“Merriell?” He tries again because he has to, because he won’t let himself believe it yet. 

He can’t open his eyes again. He squeezes the ring so hard he can feel his pulse in his palm. Furious, he throws his fist into the seabag under his head. Violence sings just under his skin and he wishes for an instant that he could kill someone again. This can’t happen. Not after everything Shelton told him. Shelton loved him. Shelton would’ve died in Okinawa to keep Eugene alive. He _loved_ him, that coward. 

He said it first, and that feels like a mortal wound. Eugene feels the fact like a physical weight on his chest. The memory is so vivid in his mind he can almost think he was there, curled up in their cot in China, Shelton’s voice hot and breathy in his ear. He said it first, and he didn’t even mean for Eugene to know. It wasn’t a lie, or some ploy. It had been just for himself. That can’t have changed, not after everything. How could he do this to Eugene? How could he leave if he was the one who started all of this?

When Shelton had started this he pretended it was nothing. He would’ve let it stay nothing, if Eugene hadn’t understood. He would’ve loved Eugene alone, all this time. But he didn’t.

As quickly as it had come, the rage evaporates, leaving despair so razing and bone-deep he wants to fall back asleep and not wake up. He still doesn’t lift his head. He rolls over to face the back of the seat and curls into himself. He covers his face as the tears overpower him, humiliating and not nearly quiet enough as he lies shivering in his seat, alone. Abandoned. 

He can feel a few pairs of eyes on him as he sobs, but can’t bring himself to care. No one can possibly know. He’s the only one on this train anymore who has any idea. He’s the only one with this secret. This secret that will stay secret now, for the rest of his life. Something that would frighten other people if they knew. Like the war. He’s allowed this now, at least. His seabag feels hot and damp under his face and he can’t look up now. Not when he might catch sight of someone watching him. A full grown Marine, a veteran, weeping in uniform. He feels like a fool.

After a while the tears dry up, he listens to the other passengers as they wake, listens to the clatter of the service cart wheels against the floor. He overhears bits of hushed conversations from civilians all around him. They all seem so calm and uninterested in their own lives. They don’t even seem to realize there was ever a war, how brutally so many of their men have died to keep them happy. He rolls his ring between his fingers and wishes it weren’t here. Wishes he weren’t here. Wishes Shelton was.

“Merriell…” 

He doesn’t wait for a response this time. There won’t be one. 

He slips his ring on his finger and swallows down his despair. There’s still a copper aftertaste in his mouth, remnants of blood along the inside of his cheek.

He still hasn’t opened his eyes. He’s tired. He’s slept all night and he’s tired. His body is so tired. 

For just a little while, he falls back asleep.

When Eugene wakes up again, the train is leaving Mississippi. He sits up and takes a deep breath before turning to face the empty seat across from him. It still hits him like a gunshot in his chest. The air rushes out of him like a sigh, and Eugene looks down at his hands. The tears are back before he realizes it, but at least they’re silent this time. 

It’s not fair. There’s nothing anymore. There’s no war to fight in, there’s no schedule to follow. No rifles to clean, no drills to complete. The scale of his personal futility chills him, and what’s worse now, for the first time in years, he has no one to turn to.

There’s no one to talk to anymore. The ones who aren’t dead all went back home, they’re all gone. He’s all by himself for the first time in two years, and he hates it. There’s no Sid, there’s no Burgie, there’s no Pete or Redifer or Peleliu or Okinawa. There’s not even Peking, not anymore. He’s no longer a Marine and he’s no longer a hero. Now he’s just a veteran. A uniform no one looks at twice. 

Everyone who didn’t see through him is gone now. Even the one he thought would stay. 

The thought circles in his mind like a record skip. The landscape whips by outside the window, turning marshier by the mile. It runs together, unstable and lost. He’s killed people. He’s watched friends die. He’s pulled white sheets over the faces of men who kept him alive, hauled their bodies over scalding rocks with Shelton. He’s seen human bodies shredded, incinerated. He’s watched fellow Marines be carried away on stretchers to never be seen again. And he’s here, sitting on this train, waiting for the view out the window to look like home, when he knows nothing ever will again. 

There’s a family he belongs to in Mobile, and friends he had once, people he knew, but it’s all different now. He doesn’t have to see it to know. His family will see a person he doesn’t anymore. His friends won’t share in the war he has. Even the ones who fought, they fought somewhere else. Other islands. On the other side of the world. Eugene is out of place now, lost somewhere between 1944 and now. He’s not Eugene Sledge anymore, and he’s no longer Sledgehammer, either. He doesn’t know who he is, but he wasn’t supposed to be it alone. Shelton had promised him he wouldn’t be.

Tears are cold and slick, dripping from his chin. He doesn’t wipe them away, just keeps his head down, vision blurring as he focuses on his hands. They look different than they had before. Unfriendly. Violent. 

He wishes Shelton would’ve kept his ring, at least. He wishes he had something of Shelton’s. He wraps an arm over his side, brushing where he knows the faded scars stay just under his uniform.

Something else.

He pulls out his new pipe and looks it over. The box is in his seabag, and it’s close to what he wants. It hurts, the memory. It’ll hurt for years to come, he thinks. It’s almost enough. Chewing at his lip, he packs it full of tobacco with shaking hands. 

He takes long deep breaths of pipe smoke as he watches Alabama come into view from the window. The warm smoke slips into his lungs and wraps around his heart. They’ll be in Mobile before lunch.

It doesn’t feel real. Nothing does anymore. It’s all happening too fast. They had so much time, months and months languishing in Peking, days on this train and suddenly the ticking clock is catching up. It’s too much shock for one person to live through and Eugene’s not sure he can take it. His skin feels numb and he moves too slowly. He’s entirely disconnected, numb, listening to the train pull into the Mobile station, feeling the wheels rock and groan to a stop. 

After all this time it feels like some sort of prank. Somehow, while Eugene was sleeping, they got him back to China. He’s never going home. And now he’s alone. His palms are clammy and the back of his neck is drenched in cold sweat by the time he gathers his things and disembarks the train. The only thing he really feels is the steady ache still in his chest. But Burgie was right. The smell of home stands out more than anything else, sunny grassland and cyprus trees, reminding him the war is over. 

He hefts his seabag over his shoulder and spots Sid waving at him, standing next to his father’s car.

Sid smiles when he sees him step off the platform. He looks happy, dressed in slacks and a blazer like a civilian. Because he _is_ a civilian now. Like he’s moved past what he’s been through. Like it’s possible. He hugs Eugene tight and smells no different than he did before he left Mobile. Somehow it confirms to him that it’s the same Sid Phillips.

Eugene throws him his bag and climbs into the passenger's side.

He’s made it home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO I'M REALLY SORRY BUT TO MAKE IT UP TO Y'ALL I WROTE AN EPILOGUE??
> 
> LOVE YOU ALL.


	20. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HERE WE GO, THE MUCH AWAITED ENDING. Hopefully it lives up to all the mental hype and doesn't take away from the story too much. It's been a blast posting this thing and I love you all.

It’s late and quiet in the apartment when the door rattles, loud hammering practically rocking it off the hinges. Merriell would assume it’s his ass of a landlord telling him his rent is overdue again if it weren’t nearly one in the morning. Nothing good can be standing on the other side of his door at one in the fucking morning.

Maybe his old man’s on harder times than he says. He hasn’t paid Merriell in almost two weeks. It could be a mobster coming to take his fingers. Merriell snatches his pack of cigarettes off his floor and pulls one into his mouth. Might be his last, if whoever’s at the door is heated enough. He tries not to look at the lighter as he flicks it open, but the glint of silver always gives a queasy tug at his navel. He pockets it and inhales. 

“Comin’.” 

He takes his time, enjoying the first burn down his throat before making his way to the door. His voice paused the knocking, which is a good sign. If they’re coming to take his fingers, at least they figured they should be quieter about it.

When Merriell opens the door, the cigarette drops from his mouth. He’d be sure he’s dreaming again if it weren’t for the civvies. Merriell’s never dreamed him in civvies.

Eugene watches the cigarette fall, and his foot slides over to stamp it out on the floor. He doesn’t look up for a while, and Merriell notices his hands are shaking. His are, too, which doesn’t feel right. He clenches his fists. He opens his mouth to say something, but his throat’s gone dry. He can barely breathe.

It’s downright unreal, seeing Eugene like this. His shirt is white and crisp, ironed nice and neat just like his slacks. His hair’s had a real trim now, better than anything Merriell had ever done for him in country. He’s got more meat on his bones than he did three years ago. He looks clean and soft and healthy. 

Merriell can’t remember the last time he ate. He’s not even wearing a shirt, and his pants have holes in them from the lumberyard. He hasn’t even showered since coming home from work this afternoon. He must not look any different to Eugene than he did back on Okinawa.

God knows how long they’ve been standing in the doorway when Eugene punches him in the jaw.

Merriell stumbles, swearing under his breath. He tastes blood and spits pink onto the floor. When the shock of it fades, Merriell smirks. 

“Guess I deserve that.”

“You’re Goddamn right you deserve it,” Eugene snarls, slamming Merriell’s door behind him. Merriell imagines his unruly drunkard neighbours being woken up from all the racket, but he doesn’t really care. He tongues at the split in his lip as Eugene barrells right in his face.

“You — do you have _any_ idea what it was like to wake up alone on that Goddamned train?”

Eugene looks like he might cry, so Merriell looks at the floor. 

He can’t know what that was like. He just has his own memories. The way Eugene looked while he slept, shuffling to curl up against the window after Merriell got up from their seat. The way Merriell couldn’t help himself, went back for just a second to lean over him and kiss Eugene’s temple after the rest of the car went on ahead. The way he ducked into an empty alley on the walk home from the train station when he knew he wouldn’t make it home before sobbing like a damn child.

He remembers the way he woke up in a panic, reaching for Eugene when it’s his own fault he’s not there. Almost every night for the past three years.

And now he’s here, and Merriell can’t even fucking look at him.

“ _Answer me._ ”

Merriell shakes his head. He doesn’t look up. Eugene’s voice is tight and forced and Merriell won’t look. He wishes he still had his cigarette. 

When Eugene lunges at him and slams him against the wall, Merriell’s eyes are still trained on Eugene’s hands. He’s not wearing his ring. Merriell had made sure to leave it before he got off the train. It was never meant for him. Eugene should be wearing it.

He would’ve kept it, if he’d known Eugene wasn’t going to. He wanted to keep it. It had only been three months, but his hand still feels too light without it.

“How could you _do_ that to me? You told me — you told me you…” Eugene’s voice trails off, and he flinches away. Merriell feels sick clot in his throat. It’s an effort to swallow, tense, thick burning in his windpipe, and Eugene slams his fist into his face again.

“All you — all you did was lie to me.”

Merriell shakes his head. Blood is dribbling down his chin now, but Eugene isn’t looking at him. 

“You left me,” he says finally. He doesn’t sound sad, he sounds _furious._ “You didn’t even — you didn’t even tell me goodbye, you _chickenshit._ ”

Merriell’s tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth, his voice trapped behind his teeth. He can’t deny that, anyway. He was a Goddamn coward for what he did. That ain’t news. He looks at his feet. 

“Why did you lie to me? Why would you do that? Why did you tell me you loved me if you were just going to leave?”

It wasn’t like that. He hadn’t planned it to be that way. Merriell opens his mouth to say so, but it’s not a real question. 

Eugene talks right over him. “You fucking _coward._ Do you know what you did to me?”

Merriell shakes his head. He doesn’t try to speak again.

“I — I _waited_ for you. Did you —?” Eugene’s voice trembles, and Merriell flinches. “My life stopped for you. For _you._ Like the Goddamn idiot I am, I thought maybe — maybe you’d come back for me. I was stupid enough to think you’d —”

He stops talking so suddenly, it takes Merriell several seconds to realize he’d made a noise. A quiet, shuddering breath. Eugene was shouting so loudly Merriell thought he’d be able to slip it past him. Maybe the look on his face isn’t as stoic as he thinks. His eyes won’t leave the floor. He licks the blood from his mouth. Christ, he hopes he isn’t crying.

It’s quiet for so long, Merriell thinks maybe this is a dream after all. Maybe he’s waking up. Maybe Eugene is gone. But then his head knocks against the wall, forceful, angry. Eugene’s nails clawing hard into his shoulders.

“Say something, Merriell.” Eugene’s voice is shattered now. He’s finally broken down. Merriell shuts his eyes. “I came all this way. Say something to me.”

“I’m sorry.”

He’s not expecting it to come out of his mouth, and it seems, neither is Eugene. There’s silence for a moment, and Merriell is still too terrified to open his eyes. He can’t see the look on Eugene’s face. He can’t see that he’s crying. It took everything he had to leave him on that fucking train. He won’t be able to do it again.

The silence now is suffocating. Merriell wonders if he’s gone deaf. Finally, Eugene’s voice cracks over the quiet. 

“Why?”

At that, Merriell’s eyes snap open. “Why’m I sorry?”

He makes the mistake of looking at Eugene, then; his face blotchy red with angry tears tracking down his cheeks. A funny sort of smile twitches at the corner of his mouth for just a second. 

“Yeah,” he sighs, “Why — why are you sorry?”

It’s the stupidest damn question Merriell thinks he’s ever been asked, but when he opens his mouth, he can’t seem to answer.

“I…”

When he doesn’t answer fast enough, Eugene gives him a shake, and Merriell’s head knocks against the wall again. He doesn’t say anything else. He’s not going to break the silence. He’s going to force it out of Merriell through will alone.

“I was —” He feels as if his throat’s closing up. He hasn’t said a word about himself since stepping off that train. Nobody’s ever asked. Eugene’s the only person who’s ever wanted to know. He’s forgotten how to speak. “I shouldn’t — I — I wanted to stay. I did.”

Shame is strangling him, making the words scratch against his tongue like sand. He’s humiliated. He’s never said it aloud, never let himself think he had a choice. He had to leave. Eugene could’ve never lived like this. He had no choice. He had to.

Eugene shakes his head. The answer isn’t good enough. Of course it isn’t. He’s still crying. Merriell’s hands itch to cup his face, brush tears away like he’d done before.

“Why _didn’t_ you?”

It’s stupider than the last question, but even harder to answer. 

“Gene, c’mon—”

“Why did you leave?”

“ _Gene…_ ”

His name in Merriell’s mouth feels strange in that it doesn’t feel strange enough. It’s like the past three years haven’t happened at all. He hasn’t said it once since stepping foot in New Orleans. He couldn’t mention Eugene to anyone, not ever, not even in passing. Not even as a war buddy, a friend from his mortar squad, a marine he once knew. He’d never be able to stop once he started.

But now, his name has already latched itself onto his tongue again, forcing him to forget every other word he knows. He shakes his head. He wants to say something else. Answer his question. Apologize again. But he can’t. He only has his name. “Gene —”

“You — you told me you loved me.”

“I do.”

It’s out of his mouth before he can think. Wrong tense. Too fast. Eugene stares at him, looking like he wants to still be angry. He had a plan when he came here. He had a whole speech prepared. Merriell’s mucking it all up. His eyes go soft, and Merriell wants to hit him. Push him away. Get him as far away as he can.

“Merriell…” His voice is quiet and breathless now. Nothing like it had been. More like it was in Peking, that liminal time, when they were hidden away, Eugene’s hands on his skin. “Tell me why you left.”

“I can’t,” he says before he fucks up and does. 

“Fuck you.”

Merriell forces a smirk. His heart is like a brick in his chest. “I know.”

He can’t lie to Eugene, never was any good at it when he tried, but he can’t tell him the real reason either. Eugene won’t take it. But Eugene is pressed and proper. He eats well and gets enough sleep. He looks like he’s on his way to land some white collar job. He could’ve never had that here. Merriell couldn’t give him shit.

“Did — did you already have someone?”

It’d be a good answer if Merriell could manage it, but all he does is snort. “Look around, Sledgehammer. Ain’t no one here.”

It’s a mistake to say, because the minute he says it, Eugene does. The apartment is a single room. It doesn’t take long to look. His eyes skate from the naked mattress tucked against one corner to the filthy sink and stove on the other side. The truth clicks in his head and he drops his hands to his sides.

His eyes take the tour several times before Merriell can’t stand the silence anymore. “Toilets’re down the hall if you need to take a leak.”

“You…”

He doesn’t say it, but Merriell hears it, anyway. _Why do you live like this?_ Merriell shrugs in defense, as if Eugene asked it aloud, and bends to scoop up his pack of cigarettes from the floor. Shoving past Eugene, he sits on his mattress, ignoring the itch of Eugene’s eyes following him as he does. He tries to hide his lighter as he uses it, but Eugene spots it.

“Did you think I was lying about that?” he asks. 

When Merriell meets his eyes, Eugene is gesturing to the little flame in his hand. He shakes his head. Around his cigarette, he grumbles, “You couldn’t lie if you wanted, Gene.”

“Then why —?”

“‘Cause I’m _not_.” He cuts him off before Eugene can ask the question again. Eugene will probably go back to clocking him, but that’s fine. He fucking hates that question. It’s been stuck in his head like a bad tune for three Goddamn years. 

Eugene sputters, and Merriell decides to keep talking.

“You’d a whole future planned out, didn’t you? Thought you dialed it down enough from what you had back home. Little college boy apartment, maybe some mutt. Nice little view of the park, maybe. Right?” He doesn’t let Eugene answer. “You were never gonna get that, Gene. Not here. Not with me.”

“Merriell…”

“I ain’t even got enough to feed myself half the fuckin’ time. How was I gonna take care of you?”

“Merriell —”

“I ain’t been paid in so long I might as well not even show up anymore. Landlord calls me every name under the damn sun for how late I am gettin’ his rent. And you told me — you told me you were gonna never go back home? For this?” His arms sweep over the room. The back of his neck is burning with humiliation now. He never wanted to admit any of this. He never should’ve answered the fucking door.

Eugene is staring at him now, head tilted slightly. He glances around a final time when Merriell waves his arms, but only for a second before his eyes snap back to Merriell’s face.

“Merriell…”

“Stop sayin’ my fuckin’ name like that. We’re not in fuckin’ China anymore. You don’t get to just —”

“ _Merriell._ ” Merriell stops short, foolishness itching at his nape. “Let me finish a damn sentence.”

Eugene makes his way toward the bed. The movement seems predatory, almost, and feeling vulnerable, Merriell jumps to his feet. Eugene smirks a little sadly before taking a seat on the mattress. “I knew what I was doing, all right? I know what I told you.”

“Gene —”

“More than one sentence.” Merriell falls silent. “I’m not saying it was smart of me, Shelton, to let myself fancy on running away with you. I’m just saying — I’m saying it would’ve been fine.” Merriell shakes his head, but Eugene’s nod cuts him off before he can argue. “I loved you, Merriell. I would’ve lived here. I would’ve lived in a cardboard box if it had you in it.”

Loved. Merriell’s head can’t move past the word once Eugene says it. Used to. Not anymore. That’s Merriell’s fault, he should’ve figured. So why is he here?

He doesn’t say anything else, so Merriell clears his throat.

“Daddy ever send you to school?”

Eugene takes a moment before he nods. Merriell’s limbs feel heavy. His next heartbeat feels like a struggle and his throat’s embarrassingly tight. His eyes drop to the floor. 

“Figured that,” he says with a rasp.

“Just graduated.”

It stings. Eugene’s moved on. Merriell knew he could, knew he was strong enough despite all Eugene’s whining and theatrics otherwise. He’s gonna have a nice job and a pretty wife in no time. Have Thanksgiving around the table like they do in postcards. Merriell would bet he doesn’t even get nightmares anymore. Not like Merriell does. 

Merriell still forgets he’s not on Okinawa some nights, especially in the summer when the hurricanes roll in. Sleeps with the rain slicker from his seabag over his head, listens to the rain and storms. The only thing different is Eugene’s not here for him to hold tight to. Merriell has to remind himself when he wakes up in a panic that Eugene’s alive, out there somewhere, before he can even convince himself he’s home. Eugene’s not dead. Merriell is alone only because he left.

“Merriell?”

He must’ve been quiet for too long. “What?”

“I could get any sort of job I want, now.”

“That’s nice.”

Eugene sighs. “We… we could’ve —”

“No.”

He can’t let Eugene talk like that. He’ll fall into it just like he did the first time. It was stupid to think back then and it’s even stupider to think now. Stupider and twice as fucking useless. Could have. Who cares what they could have. They don’t have shit, and Eugene doesn’t even love him anymore.

Eugene jumps up so fast that Merriell doesn’t even realize it until he’s slammed against the wall. He can’t breathe, and he doesn’t know why until he tries to, and Eugene bites his lip.

Merriell’s heart is suddenly pounding in his throat. Heat crawls from the pit of his stomach out along his limbs. Eugene still kisses like he loves him. Merriell tangles his fingers in fiery red hair and pulls, desperate and needy. 

“Merriell…” 

His voice soaks into Merriell’s skin, and in an instant they’re back in Peking. Back to where nothing matters outside their soft, quiet little room. Back when Eugene loved him. Merriell whimpers, abruptly helpless for it, and Eugene reaches up to cradle the back of his head.

It’s hard to tell if Eugene drops back onto the bed or if Merriell shoves them both down. Eugene lets out a quiet _oof_ as his back hits the mattress, and Merriell crawls over him. He’s still so dainty and passive, like Merriell could tear him open if he wanted. 

The thought sparks a memory, and his hands rip hastily at the buttons of Eugene’s shirt. “Are — are they —?”

Eugene doesn’t answer, but shuffles out of his shirt as Merriell paws at it. He doesn’t look as if he knows what Merriell is trying to ask, but they’re still there. Faded white lines, crooked and barely visible against the creamy skin along his ribs. When Merriell touches them, Eugene jolts a little. Maybe he’s forgotten about them. He looks up when Eugene scoffs.

“Been a while since anyone’s noticed ‘em.”

Merriell has nothing to say to that. Abruptly, he has to stop himself from digging over them, making fresh ones for everyone else to see. He traces the lines lightly with his nails to quiet the need, and Eugene watches.

“You still have — yours healed different.”

Embarrassed, Merriell wraps an arm around his middle. “Yeah.”

They’d faded so much in the sun that summer that Merriell went to them one night with a pocket knife. He felt sick, after. Lonely. But it’s his own fault. He shouldn’t have been allowed to keep them, anyway.

Somehow, Eugene seems to know. Or maybe he’s just not angry anymore. He should be, but he’s gentle when he tugs at Merriell’s wrist. His thumb presses warm against Merriell’s pulse.

“You know,” he says, his voice so quiet it’s hard to hear even in the silent room, “Sometimes I think I was too busy missing you to let myself think about the rest of it, half the time.”

 _I know what you mean,_ Merriell doesn’t say. It’s not the same for him. It’s his own damn fault, being alone. He shakes his head.

“Gene…” He’s humiliated when his voice is hoarse, and clears his throat. He means to try again, but Eugene cuts him off, pulling him back into a kiss.

It’s pathetic, how desperate Merriell is just to touch him. How easily he’s letting this happen. He hasn’t been to the docks in two years and he hasn’t bothered to court a girl since before the war. It almost feels the way it did when he was sixteen. Better. Eugene’s always been better.

When Eugene’s hand slides to the front of his slacks, Merriell swallows down a moment of panic. He wonders if Eugene has been with anyone else by now. Probably has. It’s embarrassing to realize Eugene’s probably had more practice in the last three years than Merriell has. 

“Merriell?”

He’s shaking. He wishes it were Eugene. It used to be Eugene, but this time the hand at his neck is holding him steady. He leans forward again and takes Eugene’s mouth in his. Can’t ask questions if Merriell just kisses him stupid like he used to.

He’d tried, when he first came home. Snuck out at nightfall to meet up with Navy boys. It was still good, but different now. After letting a redhead fuck him against the brick of a boathouse, it felt off. Blood in his mouth from biting his tongue to keep from spilling a name out when he shouldn’t.

Eugene breaks away from him. “Is this all right?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

A quiet huff of a laugh, falling back into the kiss. At least he’ll drop it, now. Stop worrying. This is all Merriell has wanted since running away like a damn fool. He can’t talk about this. He’s already said more than he should have. If he’s not careful, Eugene might stay.

That’s what Merriell wants, but he knows better.

They strip naked in silence. Eugene’s neatly pressed slacks crumple beside his crisp white shirt on the floor. Merriell doesn’t do things like sweep or dust since Stanley hasn’t been around to make him. The floor is filthy. He can see dirt clinging to Eugene’s fresh, neat clothes already.

He’s just afraid to look up, really.

He hasn’t seen Eugene this way in three years. If he’s honest, he’s never seen this Eugene at all. He’s so different now. The scars faded, but everything else is different, too. He’s paler than he was, covered head to toe now in muted freckles he didn’t all have before. He spends less time in the sun than he did burning on Peleliu. He’s so much fuller than he had been in country, chest not as sunken, shoulders broad. He eats well. There’s muscle under his skin now where Merriell only remembers bones.

Merriell had thought he was perfect three years ago, but he was wrong. He’s more beautiful now than he’s ever been.

“Gene —”

“C’mere.” Eugene tugs Merriell down by his arm until he’s straddling Eugene’s hips. It feels familiar. Safe. It’s been a while since he let himself miss this. He wraps his arms around Eugene’s shoulders and kisses him hard. Eugene’s hands slide careful and soft over his ribs, and Merriell lets himself pretend for just a second that this has been his life for the past three years.

His breath catches, but Eugene’s decent enough to pretend he doesn’t notice, pulling Merriell on top of his lap. “I’m guessing you don’t still have rifle oil on you.”

Merriell’s laugh comes out a bit hysterical. “No, but —” He leans across the bed to dig at the space between the mattress and the wall. The lid on the jar of Vaseline is caked and sticky, and Eugene’s hands shake a little as he forces it open. It’s a little comforting, knowing Eugene is nervous too.

“Will you —?” Eugene swallows, and Merriell feels a fresh wave of nerves. “Will you talk to me?” 

Mouth dry, Merriell tries to think of something to say. Eugene’s hand is firm on his hip as the other one skates down, careful fingers, being frustratingly gentle. He shouldn’t be able to tell how long it’s been for Merriell. It feels like he knows.

“Talk to me, Merriell,” Eugene repeats hoarsely. He drops his forehead against Merriell’s collarbone. “Please.”

“ _Je suis désolé,_ ” he says finally, but Eugene shakes his head.

“Not — not French.” His voice is tense again. Merriell clenches his eyes shut. “I want. I want you to talk to me, Merriell. Please.”

Words are locked in Merriell’s throat. He can’t think. Eugene’s fingers are slick and warm and all that escapes his mouth is a quiet gasp. As Eugene works his hand, the one at Merriell’s hip moves to cup his face. “Tell — tell me…”

He trails off, and Merriell forgets himself, the familiar, warm tingle flowing up his spine and making him loose. His head sags forward, dropping onto Eugene’s shoulder. Dizzy, he kisses the span of pale freckled neck he can reach. The hand in his hair pulls tight, and the one inside him falls away. 

Whimpering, Merriell twists in his grip when Eugene drags him into his lap. He remembers it being this way overseas. In country, and between long spans of not having any privacy. He’d always liked to tease Eugene for being desperate, but Merriell was always needier. He thinks they both knew that.

Eugene is quiet as he slides Merriell over his cock, but Merriell isn’t. It’s been too long, like his first time all over again, and he feels as if he’s being ripped in half. The Vaseline is different from the rifle oil. Thicker, smoother. He’s only used it to jack himself off a few times since coming home. The Navy boys all had their own on the docks. 

His vision is grey when he opens his eyes, faded around the edges. God, it’s been too long. His heart is gonna crack his ribs for how hard it’s beating. He feels too-full and too-hot and must be crying out too loud, because Eugene takes his face in his hands and shushes him, running his thumbs soothingly over his face.

“Look at me, Merriell, look at me. I wanna — I wanna hear you talk to me. Please.” Merriell whimpers, his head spinning, and Eugene still hasn’t moved. “Please, Merriell. Tell — tell me. Tell me what… how it would’ve been, if you stayed.”

It’s like a knife in his gut. Colour comes back as mostly red. He blinks and everything blurs. The breath steals out of his lungs, and Eugene cradles his head, watching him with wide eyes. When he finally moves in him, it’s gently. Slow. Tender. 

Merriell can’t look at him. “Where — where’d you wake up?” He remembers his promise. It still echoes in his head every damn day like a scratched record. Get off the train, go north.

“Gulfport.” He answers quickly, like he still thinks about it, and Merriell’s heart stutters in his chest. 

“Could’ve gone —” Eugene starts to move a little faster, and a low, comfortable buzz in Merriell’s brain drowns out his thoughts for a moment. The pain subsides all at once and his eyes slide closed in relief. “Up — up to Tennessee, Kentucky if you’d — if you’d wanted.”

“Yeah?”

Merriell nods, his skin burning, heart thumping out of his chest. He’s afraid to open his eyes, head swimming. “Yeah. Could’ve — built a cabin up there.”

“Tell me.”

“Just us, could’ve — gotten some land together and — grown some crop. Stayed hidden.” 

Eugene’s fingers are soft on his face. It could almost feel like they’re still in China if Eugene would shut the hell up and stop asking him to talk. He tries to stay quiet for a moment, let himself get lost in it, but Eugene’s lips brush against his temple. “What else?”

He hates that all Eugene has to do is ask.

“Raise — raise us some cattle, maybe. Make us some money that way.” Eugene’s holding him still, rocking his hips forward. Merriell has to dig his nails into Eugene’s shoulders to stay steady. “Buy you — all the fancy shit you used to.”

The world shifts for a moment and Merriell’s back slams against the mattress. Eugene pins him down by the shoulders and fucks into him so hard Merriell has to throw his legs over his back. 

Words are falling out of his mouth before he can think through them. Eugene’s hands are warm on his face, petting back his hair slick with sweat. “We could’ve — a ranch. Farm. I would’ve — kept you safe.”

There’s a soft gasp above him. Eugene freezes to press his forehead to Merriell’s. He has to look, then. Out-of-focus freckles right against his vision.

“I know.”

When Eugene kisses him, Merriell tastes salt. He reaches up to cup Eugene’s face, and his hands come back slick and warm. This is his fault. He shuts his eyes again before the room starts spinning.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

Merriell feels as if his bones are lead. His heart is beating a mile a minute but it doesn’t feel fast enough. His body is heavy. His mind’s going blank.

“I love you,” Merriell says finally, his tongue thick in his mouth. “I love you, I’m — so sorry. I got scared.”

“I know.” Eugene’s voice is quiet, barely a whisper, catching on his breath. Merriell’s throat is closing around nothing. If he opens his eyes again, his vision will tunnel. Eugene had told him he’d grow tired of hearing it before Eugene would ever stop saying it.

He just wants Eugene to say it.

“Gene —”

Fingers wrap around Merriell’s cock, slide slow and tight over his skin.

He’d do anything to keep this. “I love you,” he says again, hoping Eugene will eventually say it back. “I love you, I’m so sorry.”

When Eugene comes it sounds like a sob. He drops onto his elbow, but Merriell keens. It feels amazing after so long, like he’ll never have anything better than this. He needs it to last.

“Don’t — don’t stop. Please.”

Eugene shakes his head, pressed tight into Merriell’s neck. Teeth sink hard into his collarbone, and Merriell comes with a shout, hands grappling for purchase in Eugene’s hair. It feels the same. Merriell tries to forget any time has passed at all.

They lie together in silence for a moment. Merriell reaches over the side of the mattress and scoops an old shirt off the floor. He wipes himself off. He feels a sweep of shame in his gut at the thought of handing it to Eugene, but Eugene takes the dirty shirt from his hands before he can and drags it over himself.

Neither of them say anything. After a while, Merriell picks up his cigarettes and lighter from the floor. He offers Eugene a cigarette, and lights it for him when he takes it. He holds the lighter so that his hand covers the engraving, but Eugene takes it from him, anyway. Runs his thumb over the letters. Hands it back.

“I’m —” Eugene’s voice croaks, still too obvious that he’s cried. He clears his throat. “I’m getting married.”

Icy sweat beads at the back of Merriell’s neck. He thinks, for a moment, that his heart stops beating. When it starts again, it feels too late. Half-dead. Might as well have stayed stopped. 

He doesn’t say anything. He wonders if Eugene expects him to.

“Friend of my brother’s wife. We’ve been — I haven’t asked her yet but — she likes me.”

Merriell hates her. He says nothing.

“Merriell, I —” He hesitates, but Merriell doesn’t take the bait. Don’t look at him. Don’t fall for this. “I love you.”

Merriell shuts his eyes. Counts to three. Opens them again. He takes a drag from his cigarette and stares at the ceiling. His chest feels tight. Something’s digging under his ribs, scooping bits out. He clears his throat and takes another drag. Eugene’s is burning in his hand.

“I still — I still love you. I want this.”

Sick crawls back up Merriell’s throat. He keeps his teeth clenched. The corners of his eyes prickle and itch, but he doesn’t blink. He swallows, takes a deep breath. Whatever’s digging feels like claws. 

“You don’t.”

A sigh. “Merriell —”

“She — she make you happy? You like her, right?”

Silence for too long. He doesn’t want to say yes, but that’s what the answer is. Maybe it’s not the same, and maybe he’s scared. But it could be the same one day. Better. He’ll have sons, after all. A life he was never gonna get with Merriell.

Merriell’s stomach roils. It’s hard to breathe. For the first time since Eugene showed up, he wishes he’d been dreaming. The Eugene in his head has stayed his. Three years younger, still on that Godforsaken train. His perfect boy. Right where he left him, so he could always go back.

His mouth tastes like blood.

“Merriell —”

“You gotta ring?”

“No.”

It’s too quick an answer. Merriell feels something heavy sit in his gut like stones. _“Give her somethin’ that matters. An heirloom from your grandma or somesuch.”_ He shakes his head, trying to dislodge the memory. 

Eugene watches him, and seems to read his mind. “I… I don’t wear it anymore.”

It’s too much. He’s hollow inside. Merriell sits up, plants his feet on the floor. Breathe. Don’t look at him.

“I keep it — keep it in the pipe box.”

“Stop.”

He can’t breathe. There’s nothing left to rip at under his ribs, but the claws are still there. Scratching at bone. He wishes Eugene weren’t here. He wishes he could cry. He wishes he could just ask Eugene to stay.

Eugene would say yes. He knows he would.

“I miss you,” Eugene says finally. “It’s — I can’t… God, I miss you.”

“ _Stop._ ”

“You told me you — you told me you were sorry. You still love me.”

Merriell bites his tongue. He can’t deny it, but he can’t give in, either. Eugene likes this girl. He could be happy. Normal. Merriell can’t let Eugene stay, not after he’s moved on. Quiet stretches, and Merriell realizes Eugene is waiting for him to speak. He takes a long drag of his cigarette and exhales through his teeth.

“So?”

“Merriell…” 

Don’t look at him. If he’s crying again, if he’s got that look on his face, Merriell won’t be able to do this. He could hardly do it the first time. He won’t survive doing it again. But he has to. He stamps his cigarette out on the floor.

Eugene can be happy. Safe. He still likes girls, at least one. He likes her enough to ask. Make babies. He can be normal. He’ll be safe.

“You told me you’re sorry.” A nod. He is. “Do you —?” A deep breath. Merriell chews on the inside of his lip hard enough to bleed. “Do you regret it?”

Every day. “No.”

There’s a click of Eugene’s tongue, and Merriell has to look at him. He’s folded into his knees, auburn bangs hanging in his eyes. His knees are still as knobby as they were three years ago. Merriell hadn’t noticed that before. 

The cigarette between his fingers is burning to the end. Merriell takes it out of his hand and tosses it on the ground next to his own, stamps it out with the ball of his foot. Eugene watches from his knees.

“If I’d woken — if I’d woken up before you left —”

“Gene…”

“It was your plan the whole time.” Stop. Go back. Start over. They can’t talk like this. Merriell’s throat is on fire. “You told me to get some sleep. You were never — you were never going to stay.”

“Eugene —”

“How long?”

Merriell’s thoughts trip over themselves for a second. “What?”

“How long did you know you were going to leave? Did you ever — did you ever want to stay with me?”

“Eugene, I…”

“You knew in San Diego, didn’t you?” Eugene gets to his feet. “I — I _knew_ it. Told myself I was crazy, but I _knew._ ” 

He snatches up his slacks from the floor, but Merriell grabs his hand. He’s not done looking. This could be the last time he ever sees him. He shouldn’t even have this chance, but now that he has it, he has to take it.

“I would’ve stayed.”

“Bullshit.”

He shouldn’t have said that, anyway, so he’s not going to argue. But he would’ve stayed. He would’ve gone anywhere Eugene wanted. And then Eugene would be stuck, just as Merriell is now. He’d be stuck, and he’d hate him.

He hates him now, he must, but that’s probably a good thing.

Eugene doesn’t pull his hand out of Merriell’s grip. He’s standing there, waiting. He wants Merriell to say something, anything to get him to stay. Merriell would kill to say it, but he can’t. Not anymore. He drops his hold on Eugene’s fingers, but neither of them move.

“ _Tu me as ruiné._ ”

Exasperated, Eugene sighs. “What does that _mean?_ ”

He’ll stay if Merriell tells him. He’ll give up everything, all over again. Merriell shakes his head.

“This was a mistake,” Eugene says under his breath. 

Merriell squares his shoulders and nods. It’s as if the claws tearing at his insides are back, even though nothing’s left in him. He should’ve never opened the fucking door. He clears his throat. “Probably.”

He expects it to shove Eugene out the door, at least make him angry. He flinches, in case Eugene hits him again. Instead, he just drops back onto the mattress next to Merriell with a sigh.

“Why — why do you still think I’m so much better than you?”

Merriell doesn’t move. He can tell when Eugene gives up on waiting for an answer, watches his shoulders sag out of the corner of his eye.

“I love you, Merriell,” he says, sounding more resigned than affectionate. It reminds Merriell of the first time he said it. The memory burns, and he clenches his fists at his knees. “I know you love me, too.” 

He leans forward, then, and Merriell is too helpless for it to pull away. Eugene kisses him like he did on Okinawa, like he could die at any minute. Like he has nothing left to lose. It’s warm and careful and wet with tears and puts Merriell back together, ribs and insides all in place. 

Merriell cups Eugene’s face. Eugene pulls back for a breath, but before Merriell can even say a word, he’s back on him, cradling his jaw like Merriell is made out of glass.

Eugene pushes at Merriell’s chest as his kisses trail down his neck, until he falls back, pressed against the wall. Merriell feels syrupy and warm, drapes a hand over the back of Eugene’s neck and scratches along his nape. He’s here, after everything Merriell did to him, Eugene is still here, and he still loves him.

He doesn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve it then, and he sure as hell doesn’t deserve it now. But Eugene’s breath is warm and steady against his neck, and if Merriell just keeps his eyes shut he can pretend they’ve stayed this way from the beginning.

Kisses slow to nothing. Eugene splays over Merriell’s chest, still and silent. Merriell runs his hand through Eugene’s hair. He loses himself in the familiarity of the weight lying over him, the softness between his fingers. He doesn’t notice when he starts humming, just realizes, abruptly, that he is.

He can’t let himself fall into this again, but God, it feels good. Safe. Almost happy. He entertains the thought that he could fall asleep like this, maybe make it through several hours without a nightmare. But he can’t let himself, not now. He’ll wake up, and Eugene will be gone.

Not that he doesn’t deserve that.

They haven’t moved in so long that Merriell’s bones creak as he shifts up higher against the wall. Eugene shuffles into a more comfortable position, and neither of them speak. The only sound is Merriell’s humming, trailing off every now and again. When Eugene moves again, it’s only to scoop Merriell’s cigarettes off the floor. He takes one and hands Merriell another, lighting them both without a word.

The cigarette pack gets tossed back to the floor, but Eugene’s hand stays wrapped around the lighter. He runs his nail over the engraving and exhales in an exasperated puff against it. He flicks it open, starts the fire, and Merriell watches in silence.

Eugene plays with it for several seconds. Open, close. Open, close. Fire, out. Finally, Merriell prys it gently from his hand. He sets it on the floor beside them, and Eugene’s hand falls limp. He doesn’t stay still for long, barely a handful of seconds before he’s drumming along Merriell’s ribs, running fingertips along his skin. 

He’d forgotten just how fidgety Eugene could be. Back in China, he was usually quelled by penning thoughts down in his little bible. Merriell’s throat feels dry. He pulls the cigarette from his mouth to press a kiss to the crown of Eugene’s head, and then puts it back between his lips.

After a moment, he starts to hum again.

The birds seem to join in around the time that light filters blue and faded through Merriell’s grimy hopper window. Eugene’s head is still pillowed on Merriell’s chest, listening to his heartbeat as they smoke together. It’s like they’re still in China, like the trucks never came for them. 

_“We should stay.”_

Maybe they could have. Merriell hates himself for wanting it. They could’ve learned Chinese and disappeared, and Eugene would scribble in his bible and sleep beside him every night.

This time, when Eugene gets to his feet, Merriell doesn’t stop him. He watches Eugene step back into his slacks and stomp clumsily into his shoes. The cigarette in Merriell’s hand joins the other butts crunched into the floor. Merriell watches Eugene take a last drag of his own before dropping it, stomping on them both.

There’s something older about him, now. More than just three years. He’s different than he was. Tired in a bone-deep way. Merriell wonders if it’s just that the war took too long to sink in, or if maybe it’s his fault. 

Eugene takes a moment before he straightens his button-up over the scars still visible on his ribs. Merriell wonders if it’s for his benefit. He smiles at the thought, but doesn’t ask. Eugene’s focus is on buttoning his shirt, and the silence fills the room like a presence. 

When he’s finished dressing himself, his arms hang limp to his sides. “Do I —” his voice is rough from either disuse or smothered tears. He clears his throat. “Do I at least get a goodbye, this time?”

Merriell moves before he can stop himself, leaping to his feet to wrap himself around Eugene like a vine. He buries his face in Eugene’s neck and squeezes tight, holding his breath. He hates himself for this, being weak this way. Eugene deserves better than this.

His breath comes out in a punch when Eugene’s arms slide around his middle. He holds him close, and for a moment it feels as if they’re rocking, a pathetic sort of dance.

“I love you, Merriell.” His voice is muffled against Merriell’s shoulder, quiet and hoarse. Merriell nods, as if he asked a question.

“I — yeah. I love you, too.”

It’s as if Eugene’s been holding his breath since standing in Merriell’s doorway. Air flows out of him as if it were the only thing holding him upright. He sags against Merriell for a moment, nuzzling his face into his neck, and then nods. 

When he pulls back, the aging Merriell had seen in him before is gone, like it was never there. He looks no different than he did curled against him on their cot in China. Hair plastered to his face from sweat and tears, eyes wide and bloodshot like he hasn’t slept in days. Merriell feels abruptly young, himself. Younger than he ever even was in country. Too young for what this is.

He wonders what Eugene sees as he stares back. He doesn’t ask.

Eugene kisses him again, gentle and chaste this time, before walking to the door. He pauses, his hand on the door frame, and turns back. He looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t seem to know what. Goodbye doesn’t feel right, anymore. 

“Merriell,” he says finally. His voice is hesitant, and just like that, Merriell is lost. If he asks, Merriell will keep him here. He’ll pack his things and go anywhere Eugene wants to go. He wants to be better than that, wants to do the right thing, but all Eugene has to do is ask and Merriell knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that he’ll do whatever it is.

 _For God’s sake,_ he thinks, _just fucking ask me._

“Take care of yourself.”

It’s like swallowing glass. Merriell nods. Eugene takes a deep breath and shuts the door behind him. He does it lightly, respectful of the hour, but it sounds like a clap of thunder.

Merriell’s body still tingles from where it was pressed against Eugene’s. He lies back down on his mattress and pulls his rain slicker out from the corner between the wall. He pulls it over his head to block out the sunlight, and rubs the naked skin along the base of his ring finger.

Tears soak his mattress as he falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> title from "Samson" by Regina Spektor


End file.
